To Become, To Teach
by FatesMistake
Summary: Harry is struggling with a desire to teach, since his Head of House won't support the endeavor. Snape steps in and offers to have Harry work as an assistant in his classroom. Now Harry has to try and reconcile this new side of Snape he's begun to glimpse in private with the same snarky git he's always been in public. All while dealing with a life-changing decision, of course. SSHP
1. Chapter 1

Harry rolled up his sleeves as he waited for a response from the other side of the door. He had knocked twice now, and a large part of him wondered what was keeping the Potions Master from his favorite pastime of pushing Harry's buttons. The rest of him only wished that Snape would send him away so he could go back to the dorms and wallow in depressed agitation, as he had been for the majority of the last few days. Hermione had been particularly smug when she'd told him that he was to serve a detention with Snape for missing his classes all day. Apparently, the man thought "illness" wasn't reason enough to miss class. Never mind that the illness was faked, it was the principle of the matter; but at least Harry wouldn't have to fake actually being sick, since Snape obviously already knew, or would know upon seeing him, that he wasn't.

After several long seconds passed, the Seventh Year began to debate knocking a third time. He couldn't just leave; if Snape was testing him then he'd just wind up losing House Points _and_ serving the detention anyway. He'd wait all night in this bloody corridor if the man made him, if it guaranteed he could spend the weekend comfortably curled into a ball between his bed sheets. Just as he'd made the decision to knock again, the door swung open to reveal the very subject of these thoughts after his knuckles connected only once with the wood.

"Sir, I'm here to serve my detention," Harry said solemnly, returning his hand to his side.

Snape sneered down his long nose at Harry. "You're late, you were supposed to be here five minutes ago."

Harry, knowing he'd been knocking for barely less than ten minutes, declined to comment. It would do little good to argue, it would only land him in another detention. Besides, Snape obviously knew he wasn't late, or he'd have taken house points as soon as he opened the door. Instead, he walked silently past the Potions Master into the empty classroom. He immediately looked for dirty cauldrons, but was surprised to find none.

"Not here, Potter," Snape said.

Harry assumed the man was referring to where his detention was to be served and followed him through an opening in the back wall, near the blackboard, that he'd never seen before. When he saw where it led, he had to wonder if any more than a handful of students in the Potions Master's time as a teacher knew there was a door there. He was standing in what could only be the professor's private lab. Part of him was amazed that he was being allowed in the room at all, the rest of him wondered why the man's private storeroom wasn't under such tight security as this was.

"You'll be cleaning the cauldron's I've accumulated, off to the side," Snape explained. "Do _not_ use magic, as I've been using volatile ingredients that may very well explode if not cleaned out using the neutralizing cleaning agent you'll find nearby. You may fill the bucket at the sink whenever you feel you need fresh water, but move nowhere else than between those two areas with as direct a path as possible. I don't need your bumbling feet jeopardizing the potions I'll be working on."

Again, Harry held his tongue, knowing that even asking what the Potions Master was working on might land him in another detention. He took a cursory glance around, noting the location of the sink, before moving to the three size 12 cauldrons on the far side of the room. There, he found the bottle of cleaning solution, a scrub brush, and a wooden bucket for water.

"Can I mix the solution with water so I don't use as much, or would diluting it cause more harm than good?" He asked quietly.

Snape gave him an odd look from the doorway. "You may combine it with water, if you feel that would be easier."

Harry gave a curt nod as the man moved towards the gurgling potions at the opposite end of the long work table, and knelt to pour some of the solution into the bucket. When he'd dumped a few good splashes into the bucket, he walked over to the sink and filled it the rest of the way. Taking the bucket back to the work bench, he very carefully tipped the first of the three cauldrons onto its side, and began washing what had then become the bottom.

Several minutes passed before the Potions Master apparently grew tired of the silence, broken only by the sound of scrubbing and the gentle bubbling of his potion. "Miss Granger is concerned about you, Potter."

Harry leaned out of the cauldron he'd crawled into and looked at the man curiously. After a second, he gave a tired sigh. "I sort of figured, since I'm not in your class but am still serving a detention with you. This wasn't actually supposed to be a detention, was it?"

Snape didn't look up from his work. "Granger approached me following her class. She pleaded with me to speak to you, seemed to think I might be able to reach you where others had failed," The Potions Master said nonchalantly. "I agreed, on the condition that you come to me of your own freewill. I am surprised and somewhat heartened that she manipulated you into coming to me on your own by telling you that you were to serve a detention with me. It is vaguely-"

"Slytherin?" Harry supplied with a slight smirk.

Snape sent him a sharp look. "Enlightened would have been my word of choice. So, that I might avoid your friend's pleading in the future, would you like to talk about what has been bothering you? Or shall I assign you further detentions for skipping your classes all day?"

Harry frowned, sitting back on his heels. He knew Snape was serious, and he had no doubt he'd wind up having detention every night until graduation if he didn't at least pretend to cooperate. "It's complicated, sir. I doubt you'd really be able to understand." He paused for a moment, returning to his task. After several long seconds, he leaned back out of the cauldron to sit back on his heels again. "How did you become a teacher?" If looks could have killed, Harry would've been a smear on the floor. He realized too late what memories that question might bring about for Snape. "I-I don't mean…I mean the actual process of becoming a teacher, like paperwork, schooling, the specific NEWTs you have to pass, stuff like that. Sorry, sir, I should have been more clear."

The Potions Master sneered at him. "Indeed. Whilst I highly doubt your apparent confusion as to how to pursue a career in teaching is what has left you, as Miss Granger put it, 'down trod', I will assume this is all I am to get from you at this time?" Harry gave Snape the Potions Master's own trademark raised eyebrow, as if asking if he was really thick enough to believe otherwise. "Of course," Snape said, saying with a look just how much a waste of time this all seemed to him. "Why should you trust me? I've only saved your life countless times."

"And made me a laughing stock and verbal punching bag for every moment in-between," Harry pointed out unabashedly.

Snape raised an eyebrow, looking impressed, as Harry returned to his scrubbing. "Touché, Potter. Very well, you wish to know the process of becoming a teacher then by all means, allow me to oblige you." He cleared his throat lightly before he began, never once faltering in his tending to the potion before him. "Whilst not a particularly arduous pursuit, it does require time and a certain level of dedication, particularly during the testing phase. My circumstances allowed me to be fast-tracked through the program, and I have no doubt the Headmaster will see fit to do the same for you, should you tell him you that wish to teach at this school. Your NEWTs are only important insofar as determining _what_ you may teach, and as far as I'm aware have no bearing as to where you may teach. So long as you receive above average marks in your chosen subject, you would be welcomed at most schools. However, following your graduation from Hogwarts, you would then need to proceed to university to pursue the appropriate advanced lessons in your subject. This is where you would find the Headmaster's help most useful, as he can see to it that you need not pursue the university courses, and could be tested on the knowledge you have already accumulated on your own, should he think it sufficient enough. If you were to agree to teach at Hogwarts for whatever time frame Professor Dumbledore asks, then you need not even pursue the certificate of teaching that would follow. An example of this would be Professor Binns." The Potions Master explained.

Harry backed out of the cauldron yet again, looking aghast at the older wizard. "Do you mean to say that Professor Binns' unfinished business on this plane is that he agreed to teach for a certain period of time and he hasn't exceeded it yet?"

"Yes, Potter, that is precisely what I mean," Snape replied, adding some powder or other to his potion. "However, the contract became null upon his death; he simply refuses to leave until such time as the agreement has been fulfilled. Were he to be fired, he could pass on, but the Headmaster feels he is doing an adequate job, and thus sees no problem in allowing him to carry out his dying request."

The Wizarding Savior scoffed lightly and crawled back into the cauldron he'd nearly finished cleaning. "The man's barmy if he thinks that Binns is _adequate_ at teaching history. I get more information from the book than I do from him." He muttered under his breath.

"Quite," Snape answered. Harry started at being overheard, nearly banging his head on the cauldron, but Snape seemed to ignore his disrespect. "In any case, you could do as I and others before me have done and, upon being hired, acquire your certificate of teaching during the summer holidays. This is another means of nullifying any agreement of employment made with the Headmaster."

This statement gave Harry pause, and he pulled out of the cauldron entirely, standing up. "Do you mean to say…You're not here because you have to be? You're not staying at Hogwarts out of some obligation?"

Snape seemed to realize they were getting to the core of Harry's problem, and looked away from his potion. "Not at all, Potter. I am here entirely out of an obligation, only not to the Headmaster." Harry stared at the man in confusion. "I have an obligation to my _students_ , Potter. I am not merely a professor, but a Potions _Master_. With that title comes a certain duty to the Wizarding World as a whole. Most Master's only fulfill that duty by working endlessly on experiments, some useful and some frivolous. I, however, have grown in time to believe that a Master of any subject owes each newer generation the benefits of their knowledge. Many with the same idea merely publish texts, or articles in magazines, whereas I have found in my students a means of relaying the true beauty of my work. But it is not only this that obligates me to continue teaching, it is also the glimmer in the eyes of my students when they come to understand a difficult problem, and the thrill of knowing that I have forever influenced my student's lives, no matter how small an influence _they_ think I've made. I may never be seen as a good man, but I pride myself in the knowledge that I am a good _teacher_."

Harry was, needless to say, stunned by this revelation. "That's…I had no idea, sir, that teaching could mean so much…to _anyone_."

"Potter, what was it that you believed teacher's did, exactly?" Snape said, now seeming slightly agitated.

"I-I dunno, really," Harry stammered, feeling embarrassed. "I suppose I always thought teacher's taught only as a means of making sure each new generation was informed enough to function appropriately in society. But the way you talk about it, it sounds almost like an art, the way potions are an art. When I asked Professor McGonagall about becoming a teacher, she only told me that teaching was a strain, and that perhaps one student out of every thousand _almost_ makes teaching worth it by actually making an effort. She sort of made it sound like a chore, a task that needs doing which only a few are willing to attend."

"I see," The Potions Master murmured distastefully, stepping away from his potion entirely after casting the spell that would put it in stasis. He turned to face Harry full-on, crossing his arms over his chest. "Potter, you will find many people, even teachers, who believe that, while teaching is useful, it is not as useful as many other professions. These people are wrong. If you expect to pursue teaching, you need to understand this. As teacher's, my colleagues and I serve a greater, nobler purpose than the mere transference of knowledge. We mold the next generation, in many cases more than their own parents or guardians do. In a school such as this, where the students remain for the majority of the year, they are exposed to us and our ways of thinking more than any other adults. Because of this we have a great influence on their perceptions, and on who they will become when they leave. Even in schools where the children return home each night, teachers have access to them for the majority of the day. We do not merely teach you subjects, we help you solve your problems, we teach you how to behave out in society. Why do you think the students here at Hogwarts are separated into different Houses?"

"Because it's where we'll learn best," Harry said without hesitation. Hermione had told him this hundreds of times.

Snape shook his head. "Why would you think that? Every student in every house starts with the same courses, and in Third Year every student in each house is given the same options for extra courses. Even in Fifth Year, it is your grades, and not your House, that determines which classes you can continue to pursue. So why would your House determine how or what you learned in your tenure here?"

Harry started to answer that his peers affected his learning, but realized that was wrong. They'd only affected him in his knowledge of the workings of the Wizarding World, and only because he'd been too embarrassed to ask his teachers. "I guess that it's my Head of House that has most of the influence. If I have a problem, I go to her; if I need help with my schoolwork, I'd guess she'd be the first person to speak to, even though I don't think any Gryffindor's brave enough to attempt that. Even if I'm in trouble, or need guidance, Professor McGonagall's the person I'm supposed to see."

"Precisely," Snape said, giving him a short nod of acknowledgement. "And, because of your House, she would give you advice best fitted to Gryffindor's qualities. If you were in Hufflepuff, then you'd be advised in a way that best suited the Hufflepuff qualities and the same holds true for Slytherin and Ravenclaw. You see, Potter, as teacher's we do not merely pass along knowledge, we also give you, our students, answers to questions that will affect your life and how you live it. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I do," Harry said, giving a soft, breathy chuckle. "But, that's only made my problem worse."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "How is that?" He gestured to a stool at the bench, and took a seat on the one beside it.

The Wizarding Savior moved over and sat heavily. "I mentioned that I'd asked McGonagall about teaching?" The professor gave a curt nod, forgiving or ignoring his slip of the woman's title. "Well, I've been feeling absolutely rotten ever since I spoke with her, because all I've wanted to do since the DA in Fifth Year is teach, and she made it sound like a waste of time. I mean, yeah, I wanted to be an Auror so I could defeat the Dark Lord, but underneath that all I really wanted to do was teach, to give something back to the world…something that the world didn't already think I owed them, anyway. After my talk with her, I began to wonder if becoming a teacher would make that kind of a difference, and started wondering what else I could do. I've been sort of wallowing ever since then, because I don't honestly know what I'd do if it turned out teaching really was little more than a waste of time, like she said."

"So how has our discussion made this issue worse, Potter?" The former spy asked, looking somewhat confused.

Harry swiped his fringe down as he considered how to put his problem into words. "What if I can't handle it, sir? What if, in the end, I'm not good enough for such noble work and I wind up jaded and wondering what the hell I've done with my life, like McGonagall?"

Again Snape seemed to ignore his failure to use the Transfiguration professor's title, as well as his language. "If you truly wish to pursue this course, Potter, then I will go with you tomorrow to speak with the Headmaster, and together we will see what can be done to help you resolve these doubts, as it is apparent you will get no assistance from your own Head of House." He said with finality. "Additionally, you will come to my office once a week to discuss other options, should your doubts prove too overwhelming. I am well aware that asking students to choose their career paths in a five minute meeting in their Fifth Year is sometimes asking too much, and together we may be able to glean what other careers might suit you best by digging further into what each one entails."

The offer thinly veiled as a command struck Harry as almost…kind, and he failed to keep a grin off his face. Why hadn't McGonagall been this forthcoming and useful? _She_ was his Head of House! "Thank you, sir, I can't tell you how much I appreciate you offering your time up to help me. Knowing what I do now about _why_ we're sorted into the Houses we are, I wonder if the Sorting Hat wasn't right to want to put me in Slytherin."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but gestured for Harry to return to cleaning. The younger wizard did so, happy to have something to do with his hands as he thought over everything they'd just discussed. Perhaps, if Snape could look past House prejudice to help a student he already disliked, Ron was wrong about who Slytherins really were at the core. This thought made Harry stifle a laugh, realizing that this sort of thinking was precisely what Snape had been talking about. Teachers didn't just teach subjects, they taught students to think for themselves, and to pursue untouched avenues of thought.


	2. Chapter 2

"And he complains about _us_ being late," Harry murmured nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. He'd been standing in front of the Headmaster's office, where Snape had told him to meet him, for nearly twenty minutes, and with each passing second he grew more agitated. What if the Potions Master had decided he didn't really want to help after all?

Finally, the tell-tale click of heels on cobblestone echoed down the corridor, followed by the familiar _whoosh_ of the man's robes as he came around the corner. Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying anything as the man drew closer.

"Potter, you're here," Snape said, seeming surprised.

Harry looked at his watch in sudden confusion. "Of course, sir, I…What time is it, sir?"

"It is half-past eleven, Potter, what are you on about?" The Potions Master answered impatiently.

Harry glared at the device on his wrist as if it were the cause of all the troubles in the world. He began to move the dial, but decided to leave it alone, and instead looked up at his Potions Professor. "I think Hermione fiddled with my watch and set it ten minutes early."

The former spy smirked. "Smart girl, to make sure you're never late. The more I hear about Granger, the more I wonder if she wasn't truly meant to be in my House. Ton-Tongue Toffees."

The Gargoyle slid aside and Harry followed Snape onto the revolving staircase. "To be honest, sir, I think she was, and the Hat only put her in Gryffindor to keep the rest of us cheeky rogues in line." He looked up at the man on the stair above in time to catch a glimpse of what might have been a half-smile.

"Indeed," The man said smugly, "Though I wouldn't describe your lot as 'rogues'."

"No?" Harry asked curiously.

"Not in the least, Potter," He turned as they reached the door, giving Harry the full-benefit of what was, indeed, a half-smile. "Rogues have far too much charm to be Gryffindors." He opened the door before Harry could respond, and the younger wizard was forced to smother a snort of laughter as they stepped into the brightly lit Headmaster's office.

SSHP

The look on the Headmaster's face as they entered and the door closed behind them was one of sunny displeasure. Harry wasn't entirely sure _how_ the old wizard was managing such a contradiction of emotions on his bearded face, but there it was. Idly, Harry wondered what could make the man give such a disapproving stare. Blue eyes looked between the unlikely pair as they came to a stop just short of the mismatched armchairs in front of the large desk.

"What has happened now, Severus?" Albus asked with a touch of weariness in his tone.

Harry frowned, then realized how this must look. Two people who have spent the better part of nearly seven years bumping heads suddenly appear in the office of the Headmaster, of course he might think something had gone wrong. He might even think this was another of the Potions Master's attempts to have Harry expelled for some infraction or other. But then, Snape had been almost smiling when they'd walked in, so surely…Harry glanced at the former Death Eater out of the corner of his eye and saw that the small half-smile had transformed into a truly grave sneer.

"Headmaster, I am here to address a matter of discrepancy in the way Mister Potter's Head of House has chosen to address her pupils on a personal matter," The man said coldly. Harry could hear some of the prideful anger he had heard the day before when Snape had explained that teaching was not the waste of time so many believed it to be.

Albus frowned. "Minerva? Surely, you must be-"

"A few days ago," Snape interrupted impatiently. "Mister Potter approached Minerva with his desire to teach." His voice deepened into a harsh growl as Harry could feel the tension of Snape's anger draw taut as a bow. "Albus, she deliberately misled him! In Potter's words, she led him to believe that teaching was a _chore_ , and then encouraged him to pursue any other career path besides the one he desires!"

The Headmaster's frowned deepened. "Oh my," The old man murmured, leaning forward to steeple his hands on his desk. Blue eyes flashed to Harry. "Is this true, my boy?"

Harry blushed at being the center of such scrutiny. "Er, well, yeah, Professor." He answered quietly. "She didn't come right out and tell me _not_ to pursue teaching, but she did tell me that she wouldn't assist me if I did. Said it would be a waste of her time and mine, and that I shouldn't 'waste my talents' as it were."

The frown turned vaguely apologetic. "I am sorry, my boy, I had no idea. I will have to have a talk with Professor McGonagall about the specifics of her role as a Head of House."

Harry blushed. He had never intended to get his transfiguration professor in trouble, but a part of him was glad that she'd be less likely to steer students astray of their dreams and goals in the future.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

The old wizard gave a reassuring smile, and slight nod of acknowledgment.

"Quite," Snape sneered distastefully, obviously thinking that this was not enough. "As it is, I have taken it upon myself to assist Mister Potter, thanks to his own Head of House's refusal. In regards to this, I would like to request to have Potter assist me in my First and Second Year classes."

Harry gasped as he turned to the man, his brain stuttering to a halt. What just happened?

Snape continued. "I realize he has had a dismal track record for brewing in my class, but as he will not be assisting in any such way, I feel confident that he would do well as my assistant."

Albus looked as flabbergasted as Harry felt. "But, Severus, if Mister Potter will not be helping your students with their brewing, what would his duties be?"

"At first," Snape began stoically, "His position would be one of observation. He would attend me while I carry out my duties as a Professor, my shadow of sorts, so that he might get a feel for how to run a classroom, and what being a professor requires. After a time, I would begin delegating tasks to him, such as being my eyes in the classroom, or helping me to grade student quizzes. I feel that being in a position of authority over the students might help him in deciding what he feels the best method of running his own classroom is."

"Won't that just confuse the students, though?" Harry challenged. "What if the way I prefer to run a classroom differs from yours?"

Snape turned to look at him, smirking. "I am almost certain it will, Potter," He said simply. "However, you will only be allowed to implement your preferences where they do not disrupt my standards. After nearly seven years, I should think you are well aware of what I expect from my students. Should you deviate too far from what I think is appropriate, or I begin to see a prejudice in you, then we will renegotiate your role in my classroom. The same will hold true if I hear from your other professor's that your grades have begun to slip."

Harry grinned at being offered such an opportunity. Despite the man's own prejudice, he was obviously willing to overcome it to help him, so it shouldn't be that hard for Harry to set aside his own. If, that was, the Headmaster agreed to the proposal. Harry turned to the old wizard, who was busily hunched over two timetables.

After a moment, Dumbledore looked up at them, his sparkling blue eyes serious. "Whilst I feel that your idea is a fine one, Severus, I'm afraid Mister Potter has two classes that interfere with yours. His Care of Magical Creatures course coincides with your Second Year Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw course, and Defense Against the Dark Arts with your First Year Gryffindor/Slytherin class."

Snape smirked. "I have already taken the liberty of speaking to Hagrid and Rogers this morning, Headmaster. Hagrid has agreed to allow Harry to either drop his course or attend the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw class instead, and Rogers has agreed to alter his Saturdays to give Mister Potter private tutoring, so long as he can keep up with the weekly homework assignments. Apparently, Professor Rogers feels that Mister Potter has shown enough merit in Defense to warrant a little leniency."

The Headmaster turned his steely gaze on Harry. "It's your choice, my boy. I doubt you will receive such an offer again. What would you like to do?"

Harry thought about it. He loved Hagrid, and having time to spend with his friends, but this would give him the opportunity to really explore whether or not he really wanted to teach. Finally, he looked between the two men, his mentors. "I would like to accept, Sir. I'll drop Care of Magical Creatures, since I don't really need it as much as everything else, and work with Professor Rogers on the weekend."

Albus smiled, the twinkle returning to his eyes. "Very well, Harry, I will finalize this decision with your professor's and the Board of Governors." He turned the smile on his Potions Master. "Was there anything else, Severus? I find I am quite at my leisure, now."

The Potions Master smirked. "Are you ever not?" He inquired, no malice to his words. "Thank you, Headmaster, that was all I wished to address with you." He turned towards the door, his robes billowing. "Come, Potter, we have matters to discuss regarding your new position as my assistant."

Harry gave the Headmaster a final grin and a wave before following Snape out of the room, back to the winding staircase. He caught up with him halfway down, almost tripping over the man in his excitement. He couldn't believe his luck at Snape's sudden and unusual generosity.

As the gargoyle moved back in place behind them, Snape stopped and turned to look down his nose at Harry. The young Gryffindor swallowed thickly. Now would come the question of recompense, the price for the Potions Master's strange goodwill.

"We will meet every Saturday afternoon, Mister Potter, to discuss the other career paths you might take should teaching prove less fitting than you hope," The man said severely.

Harry fought the urge to sigh with relief. "Thank you, sir. I cannot express my gratitude for your helping me."

Snape sniffed indignantly. "It is a trifle, Potter, one you need not concern yourself over, except to prove to me that I have not wasted my time here today. I expect you to overcome your typical Gryffindor barbarism and _use_ the opportunities you've been granted to their fullest extent. I am not an idle man, and I abhor wasting time spent on less-than-adequate pursuits, even in the service of my students. Be sure, I will not do so for you if you do not do your utmost."

Harry nodded quickly. "Of course," He answered. "I wouldn't dream of wasting your time, Professor Snape."

Snape sneered. "Indeed." He raised an eyebrow and Harry flinched, suddenly recalling his every failed attempt to succeed in the man's classroom. Those had been a waste of both their time, even if Harry couldn't have helped it.

He tried again. "What I mean, is that I will do everything within my power to do as you said, and use this opportunity to its fullest, including you helping me with other career ideas. I can't guarantee I won't be a rubbish assistant, but I can guarantee that it won't be from lack of trying. I am completely willing to give this job my everything."

Snape seemed to consider him for a moment before giving a sharp nod. This time, Harry did sigh with relief.

"Very well, Mister Potter." Snape said at last. "Merlin knows why, but I believe you. Just be certain to leave something for your classes; I won't be used as an excuse for failure."

Harry nodded again, and Snape relaxed his scrutinizing gaze. He turned to go.

"4 'o' clock every Saturday, in my office, Mister Potter. I will contact you as soon as I get the approval from the governors as to when you will start your new job," The man said as he started to walk away.

Harry was prepared to let the man go, but realized he had to know the answer to his one burning question. "But wait," He said, stopping the man with a gentle hand on the black-clad arm.

Snape turned and sneered down at him, glancing to the hand on his arm in distaste. The Gryffindor removed the offending appendage immediately and couldn't help a small blush.

"Sorry…" He murmured. "I just- I need to know; what's all this for? I understand that you said last night that you feel you owe a debt of service to your students, and I suppose I still technically am one even if I'm not in your class…but why the sudden niceties? You almost smiled at me before, and I don't think we've ever actually spoken civilly to one another until last night. So why are you doing all of this for me?"

Snape scoffed in that jeering way he had of doing things; the same way he had done to make Harry feel about three inches tall in his first ever Potions class. It worked now the same as it had done then as the man scowled down at him.

"Do not think yourself so singularly important, Potter," The Potions Master sneered. "What I do is not only for your own benefit."

With those confounding words, the man was gone, stalking down the Seventh Floor corridor like a bat without wings, the younger students jumping out of his way in fright, before the question of who else could possibly benefit could pass Harry's lips. The Boy Who Lived stood dumbfounded as a myriad of students rushed past him, the final tide from Breakfast returning to the Gryffindor dorms before they would all diverge to enjoy their Saturday.

When his faculties returned with the slow grind of ungreased gears, Harry decided he would speak to Professor Rogers. He was confident the Board would sign off on what they would likely assume was another of Dumbledore's crazed ideas, and it was best to get his scheduling planned out now, before the vise of time closed around him. The rest of the day, he hoped, would be spent in leisure with his friends, except the hour or so before dinner that Snape had already laid claim to. Decision made, he started off in the direction of the Third Floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry knocked solemnly on the door to Snape's office later that day. His day had not gone as he had at first hoped. Whilst his discussion with Rogers had been fruitful, his time with his friends had been less so. He had made the mistake of telling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny about what Snape was trying to do for him in the Common Room. By the time they had retired to their usual tree by the lake following Lunch, practically the entire school was whispering about Harry getting 'special treatment' from the most hated professor at Hogwarts. Rumors were abound that Snape had been bewitched (or that they both had), that Harry had some form of leverage over the man, and a half dozen other conspiracies that grew more ridiculous as they went. The time Harry had hoped to spend relaxing with his friends had been interrupted endlessly with people seeking the truth. At one point, it had gotten so bad that Harry wanted to tattoo the words "I don't know" to his forehead.

Of course, those had only been the people who either wanted to express their good-hearted jealousy or well-wishes. The Slytherins, specifically Malfoy and his two dumbest cronies, had made a point of cornering Harry and making snide, unprovoked comments about his sexual preferences and the favors he must be giving to Snape and the entire Board of Governors to be allowed such a deviation from the norm. Harry hadn't bothered to argue, except to remind the idiot blonde that the boy's _father_ was one of said governor's and he could ask the elder Malfoy himself he truly wanted the sordid details that bad. Malfoy had thankfully left him alone after that, and it had left Ron laughing for several minutes thanks to the green, sick look on the Slytherin's face as he scurried away with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

Harry started as the door in front of him opened. He'd actually forgotten he was waiting out here for a reason. He blushed as Snape looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. It was ridiculous how much he was blushing recently, but he couldn't seem to make it stop. He stepped inside quickly, looking away from that burning black gaze, as Snape stepped aside to grant him entry.

"I do hope you will pay better attention as my assistant, Mister Potter," Snape said, closing the door. "I called for you to enter almost as soon as you knocked."

The blush deepened despite Harry's best efforts. "Sorry, sir, I-it's not much of an excuse, but I have had a rather hectic day. I'll do better in the future."

Snape smirked as he passed, moving to sit behind his desk which held jars of unknown ingredients and stacks of scrolls waiting to be graded. "I believe you, on both counts."

Harry started to blush again, in preparation for a rebuke, but sparkling black eyes looked up at him, a smile hidden in the dark depths, before turning to the papers before him. Without pause, the blush receded as Harry found himself confused. Once again, the snarky git of the past was gone and in his place was this almost kind, half-joking creature of unknown origin. Suddenly, an idea occurred to the Gryffindor.

"Sir, have you been poisoned? A-are you dying and haven't told anyone?"

Snape gave a scoff that could almost be mistaken for a laugh and looked up at Harry as if he had two heads. "What on Earth would give you that impression, Mister Potter? I can promise you, my health is as good as it has ever been, perhaps better without the threat of the Dark Lord hanging over my head."

Harry tried to question the man's sudden change further (again) but found he didn't have the words to adequately explain his confusion. Frustrated with his failure of vocabulary, he decided to let the subject drop. Let the man have his secrets, it was everyone's right.

"Nevermind, Professor, just a stupid idea," He said at last. Snape gave him another searching look, then finally returned his attention to his essays.

"As you say, Mister Potter." He replied evenly. "Have a seat. I need to finish grading the Fourth Years, and then we will begin our discussion. If you don't have something to occupy you, you may choose a book from my shelf so long as you remember to put it back where it belongs when you are through."

Harry nodded, even though the man likely didn't see it, and walked over to the only bookcase in the room that actually held books. A quick perusal of the titles revealed that most of the books were Potions related, unsurprising considering their owner, but there was an entire shelf dedicated to other branches of magic. Harry chose one that boasted its contents as being advanced defense techniques and took up the uncomfortable student chair in front of the man's desk.

He opened the book to its table of contents and scanned the chapter titles. He was surprised that, as the large tome advanced through it's chapters, the titles suggested that it integrated other forms of magic, and even muggle means, into defensive applications. The Gryffindor turned eagerly to chapter one, which detailed the use of Defense basics in complex situations. By the end of the first paragraph he was engrossed in the bowels of the author's mind as she began to detail scenarios and how even First Year spells, when used properly, could be effective against any enemy, or enemies, be they Dark Creature or Wizard.

The Boy Who Lived didn't know how much time had passed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the startling black eyes of his professor, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. When he did, his blush from before returned full force and he sat up quickly, dislodging the hand as he closed the book sharply.

"Sorry," He muttered as Snape raised a dark eyebrow and gave his trademark smirk.

"It's alright, Mister Potter, I have occasionally found myself lost in the world an author creates, even in an educational text such as this one," The Potions Master told him lightly.

Harry was struck again with the difference in the man when they were alone and wondered, not for the first time that day, if Snape _hadn't_ been bewitched at some point. He cleared his throat, and regretfully set the tome aside on a rare empty space of the man's desk.

"Er, what time is it?" He asked softly, glancing at his watch.

Snape answered as he rounded his desk for the second time. "Almost dinner. My grading took longer than I expected. In the future, I will be sure to allocate more time to it _before_ our meetings, to prevent this happening again."

Harry glanced mournfully at the book, knowing that this would give little time for his further pursuit of the author's knowledge, but recognized that this was also as close as Snape would come to apologizing for what he saw as a waste of Harry's time.

"It's fine, Sir," He said, looking back at Snape. "Miss Olivia Metting kept me well-occupied. She has some amazing ideas. I wish I could show this book to Ron, since he still has some dim hope of getting into the Auror corps someday."

Snape considered the book. "I could, perhaps, be persuaded to allowing you to borrow it, provided it was returned in the same condition in which it was leant. And, of course, should you choose to attempt some of the techniques and spells it mentions, that you do so under a professor's supervision."

Harry grinned. "I promise you, sir, it would be, and I would."

That half-smile again. "Then it is yours to borrow, Mister Potter. You may return it when you have done with it, or the term has come to its end, whichever should come first."

Harry ran his hand reverently over the cover of the book, his grin widening as he gaped, disbelieving, at his Potions professor. "Thank you, sir, honestly," He breathed.

A short, deep chuckle escaped the normally dour man. "I had hoped to use this first meeting as a means of divining your interests, Mister Potter," Snape said. "However, since you look as though I have just brought Christmas early, I think it is safe to say that your interests lie heavily within the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry could feel his cheeks warming in abashed embarrassment. "Well, yes, actually, but not only that. I mean, there are other things, like Quidditch, but I suppose you could say that my interests lie just as heavily in the Dark Arts themselves."

Snape's near-smile vanished into a dark scowl. "Mister Potter, that is-"

"No!" Harry interrupted loudly as he realized what he'd said. "I don't mean as a practice!" He insisted. The scowl dissolved into a frown. "What I meant was that I'm interested in studying the Dark Arts as a branch of Defense. Studying defense of anything without understanding what you're up against is like walking blindly into a fight, something I've done more than once. You wouldn't send a boxing champ up against a master of karate, right?"

Snape gave a short nod of understanding.

"Well, it's the same concept, isn't it?" Harry inquired seriously. "I mean, when we learn about Dark Creatures like Werewolves or Hinky Punks, we don't just study general spells that help against them, we delve into their origins, their defenses and offenses. We learn what to look for, how to defend against specific attacks, even things as simple as where they sleep and what they eat."

"I see," Snape said slowly. "So you're saying that, while it isn't necessary to learn to cast Dark Spells, it is just as necessary to learn what a Dark Wizard has at his disposal as it is to learn what a Dark Creature has."

Harry smiled, glad that the man understood what he was trying to piece together. "Exactly, sir. Otherwise, and I can say this from experience, you wind up almost completely on the defensive, hoping for a break in your opponent's onslaught to make your move. Even dueling isn't real preparation for a battle with a dark Wizard, since the competitors are pulling from the same library, extensive as it is, of spells, both defensive and offensive."

"I suppose you have a point, Mister Potter," Snape conceded. "However, I would be careful who you approach with this ideology. Not many would be as quickly or easily persuaded as I was."

Harry ducked his head at the light rebuke. "Yessir, I understand." He glanced up through his fringe.

Snape gave another short nod, and his attitude lightened considerably. "Now that that's cleared up, I would like to address your other interests. There are a few, less obvious, careers which utilize Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, without other interests to base my suggestions off of, we will still be severely limited. You mentioned Quidditch as one?"

Harry looked up and nodded, then stopped and shook his head in the negative. "Well, it is and it isn't. I love Quidditch, but it's not really something I could see myself doing for the rest of my life, except as the occasional pick-up game. I suppose my _real_ interest lies in the flying involved. I feel so at peace on a broom, like nothing can touch me…" He smirked. "Despite the many times and many somethings that have in my short career as a flyer."

Snape gave one of his new half-smiles, and Harry almost frowned at missing the chance to elicit that dark, secret chuckle that made his chest flutter in response.

"I will have to look into careers that might require flying, but in the mean-time I want you to think about what you could see yourself doing for the rest of your life. Even something you think is insignificant, or farfetched, I want you to create a list. The Wizarding World, much like the Muggle, has found a use for practically any preference, if you know where to look," The Potions Master said. "You can bring the list for our next meeting and we'll go over it together."

Harry couldn't help the playful smile that stretched his lips. "Homework, sir? What a concept."

The upturned corner of Snape's mouth widened slightly. "Quite, Mister Potter." He stood. "Come, it is time for dinner."

The Gryffindor stood, taking up the defense text he'd been allowed to borrow, and followed the man out of the office. When they reached the corridor, Snape paused for Harry to close the door before waving his hand over the barrier. The Boy Who Lived could feel the thick force of the powerful wards the man had summoned, and he shivered, earning him a sharp, unreadable glance from the Potions Master. Before they started down the corridor, it occurred to Harry to thank the man, for his time, and patience.

"Professor," Snape turned to him distractedly, a small scowl on his face. "I wanted to thank you, in case I hadn't already, for all the help you're giving me. I really am at a loss for words as to how grateful I am. I've never had someone take such an interest in me, and I'll admit it's a little unnerving."

There was a sharpness in the black gaze that had replaced the sparkling, hidden smile as the man grunted in response. "Get to dinner, Potter." The words were growled and Harry stared after the retreating form, utterly baffled.

At some point, he figured, he would get truly annoyed at the man's sudden mood swings as they moved from public to private setting, but for now Harry was still just surprised that the man was being nice to him at all. Shrugging off the stray thought that Snape was perhaps being possessed (or otherwise supernaturally controlled), Harry snugly tucked his new book against his chest and started towards the Great Hall. Even if the man _was_ as mad as a hatter, Harry wasn't willing to risk that his goodwill would change should he, Harry, prove incapable of upholding his end of their bargain (any of the few they had made that day).


	4. Chapter 4

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron exclaimed as he examined the tome laid out on the table in front of him. Harry ducked away from the glares and shushing that others in the Gryffindor common room shot them. Ron continued a little more quietly, practically unperturbed by the harshness of their peers. "This book is bloody fantastic, Harry. Where did you get it?"

Hermione looked up curiously from her homework, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Harry smirked under the scrutiny of his friends. "It's on loan from the Library of Snarky Potions Masters." He told them confidently.

Ron gasped as if he'd been burned and sidled away from the book cautiously, as if prepared to leap from his seat should the book decide to bite him. Hermione rolled her eyes at her boyfriend and looked at Harry.

"I assume it was borrowed with permission?" She asked sternly, narrowing her eyes.

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes, at both of his friends. "No, 'Mione, I carried it out of Snape's office without the hawk-eyed man noticing that I happened to have one of his few defense texts in hand; of course I got permission." He looked at the red head who seemed torn between wanting to study the book further and not wanting to get too close. "Ron, the book isn't going to hurt you. There's no spells or potions on it, I promise."

The youngest Weasley male looked at him doubtfully for a moment before moving in to examine the book again. "But this is incredible, Harry!" He said at length. "There are spells in here, even basic ones, that we never learn at Hogwarts." He pointed to a particular passage. "Ooh, let's try this one first!"

"No." Harry slammed the book shut, snapping his friend's fingers between the heavy pages. Ron gave a surprised yelp, glaring murderously at the offending book as if it had done it on its own. "We aren't practicing anything in this book without supervision by a professor; I promised Snape."

Ron looked at Harry pleadingly. "But it's just a basic spell, Harry, and it's not like Snape would even know," He cajoled.

"I said 'no', Ron," Harry answered curtly. His friend descended into a deep pout. "There were only two conditions for me borrowing this book, Ron, and I plan to stick to them both."

"I think that's very mature of you, Harry. Just because Snape's a bully doesn't mean you should disrespect his possessions, or his wishes concerning them," Hermione said, returning to her essay.

Harry frowned. "Except, he's not…" He started. "I can't explain it, but he's been acting different."

Hermione looked up at him again. "Different how, Harry?"

"Yeah," Ron scoffed. "Except his sudden and unexplainable interest in your career choices, I haven't noticed anything odd. He's still the sour old bat he's always been."

"Yeah, but, he's…" Harry scowled in frustration. Much as he'd done when trying to confront Snape, he found he had no words to describe the difference between the man they all knew and the one Harry had begun to glimpse. What did he tell them, that the man had almost smiled at him? That he had briefly heard the rare and oddly hypnotic sound of the man's laughter? His friend's would think he'd gone off his rocker. The Gryffindor sighed. "Never mind; like I said, I can't explain it. As for the book, we can go to Rogers on Monday and ask if he'll help us practice some of the techniques. If he doesn't have time, we'll ask Flitwick."

Ron frowned. "Why Flitwick?"

Hermione smacked the red head. "Don't you ever pay attention in class, Ronald?" She demanded in exasperation.

The boy grinned at her. "'Course not," He told her. "S'what I have you for."

The bushy-haired witch rolled her eyes. "Flitwick is a dueling champion, Ron. He'd probably love a chance to get to try some of the spells and techniques in that book. He may even know some stuff that's not in there when it comes to using Charms for defense."

"Exactly," Harry said, sliding the book off the table and placing it in his school bag. He pulled out his homework as his friends resorted to old habits and started arguing over study habits. It would take half the night, but Harry hoped to finish all of his assignments before the next morning, so that he could spend what was left of his weekend just being a typical 17 year old.

SSHP

The three of them remained behind after DADA had ended on Monday afternoon. They had Charms next, but none of them were willing to wait until the end of the teaching day to question the Defense Master. After the rest of the class had left, the trio moved to the desk where the older wizard was organizing his things. He looked up at their approach.

"Don't you three have a class?" He asked severely.

Ron and Hermione pushed Harry forward and he rolled his eyes. With the professor looking on, curious, and appearing somewhat agitated by their lack of response, the Boy Who Lived reached into his messenger bag and withdrew the borrowed Defense text. He held it out, but the professor only looked on with mild interest.

"I borrowed this book from another professor, sir. It's advanced defense techniques, and I made the promise that we would not pursue any of the information on our own." Harry explained. "We, Ron, Hermione, and I, were wondering if we could borrow some of your time to help us further our knowledge in your subject."

Rogers gave a scoff of a laugh. "In other words, you want me to watch and guide you as you study advanced Defense?"

Harry nodded firmly. "Yeah, basically." The Defense Master took the book still being held out to him and started to look through it. "I realize you've already agreed to give up some of your time to helping me pursue your class in general, and we could ask another professor, but we thought that, since it's _your_ subject, we should ask you first."

Rogers looked up from the book. "This text is very advanced," He said. "Who did you say you borrowed this from?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't, actually. But, to answer the underlying question, it belongs to Professor Snape."

Rogers handed the book back. "Well, I suppose that means you're serious about this, and it's not a passing fancy. How long have you wanted to pursue Defense like this, Mister Potter?"

Harry snorted as Ron and Hermione snickered behind him. "I think probably since I started at Hogwarts, in spite of the teachers I've had. It's sort of my thing, actually. You can ask pretty much anyone, sir, I learn Defense intuitively. Probably because I needed to, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't love the fluidity of it, how it seeps into other branches of magic without prejudice."

The Defense Master handed the book back. "Alright, Mister Potter. If you and your friends are serious, then I will help you. It is, after all, what I'm here for. Your tutoring is Saturdays at 10, correct?"

Harry nodded.

Rogers returned to organizing the papers on his desk. "I do my grading during lunch on Saturdays. You and your friends can come in the afternoon, at around 2, and I'll help you pursue the techniques in the book."

The three Gryffindors grinned. "Thank you, sir."

The man looked up at them. "Keep in mind, this will mean extra homework."

Ron started to groan and was abruptly elbowed by his girlfriend. Again, it was Harry who answered.

"We understand, Professor, and we are completely willing to do whatever you ask of us, given that you're giving up your limited free time," The scarred hero said, still grinning. "Thank you, again. We should head to our next class."

"Have a nice day," The man said distractedly, his attention already turned to the work on his desk.


	5. Chapter 5

It took three days for the Board of Governors to approve Snape's request to use Harry as an assistant, a record for the eleven men who usually took months to decide anything without threats from Lucius Malfoy. As luck would have it, this had Harry starting his work on his mostly empty day, giving him plenty of time to prepare. Hermione had insisted he take his bag so he could do homework or take notes on any teaching advice Snape may give him, and so he had it on him when he knocked on the door to the Potions classroom. McGonagall had excused him ten minutes early, so he could get to the Potions Classroom well-before the next class.

"Enter."

Harry opened the door, and struggled not to shrink under the twenty-odd stares of the Gryffindor/Slytherin Third Year class. He shook his head as a few of his fellow lions tried to wave, but remained the object of their curiosity until Snape looked up from the front of the room.

"I believe you all have potions you should be working on." The Potions Master's rumbling voice washed over the classroom, his students immediately returning their attention to their cauldrons. He looked at Harry, who couldn't help a small blush. "Come here, Potter."

The Gryffindor swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous about his first day of work, as he walked down the aisle between the desks to the front of the room. Inwardly, he knew he was only meant to be observing as a start, but outwardly he was a ball of nerves that he was going to screw even something as simple as that up. Hell, they weren't alone, and he'd shown up perhaps too early; that might be reason enough for mean-Snape to nullify their agreement.

Harry came to a stop in front of Snape's desk. "Sir, I'm sorry, I never meant to interrupt your class."

"Life will go on, Potter," The man said blandly, not looking up from his grading. He used the feather end of his quill to point next to and slightly behind his desk. "You may sit there until I have concluded this class, and then we will go over what I expect from you in these first few lessons."

The young Potions Assistant looked to see a cushioned stool and a tall round table in front of the blank wall where the hidden door to Snape's private lab stood. "Yes sir." He murmured before moving over to the provided seating. He set his bag down on the table, which was just large enough for him to take notes or do homework, and hefted himself up onto the stool to wait. It was surprisingly comfortable.

Snape stood from his desk. "You should all have finished by now, despite the interruption." Harry did shrink now under the stares from his housemates, the glares from the young Slytherins, but mostly under the dark glance from those forbidding black eyes. "Bottle your potions and leave them on my desk. You're dismissed."

There was a sudden, mad scramble that could only be born of disorganized thirteen year olds, though several of the Slytherins paused long enough to send baleful looks of jealousy at Harry. It had come as quite the surprise to the adult Gryffindor that so many Slytherins, Fifth Year and under, craved the attention and approval of their Head of House. He smirked at the leering children, resisting the urge to taunt them further. After several minutes of clambering movement, the class began to file out just as the bell for release echoed magically through the corridors.

When the last student had left, closing the door behind them, Snape turned to Harry with a playful smirk. "I'll thank you not to tease my Slytherins with your recent advantages. It is hard enough already for them to realize that, though I play the part admirably, I am not their father."

Harry gave an unrepentant smile. "Sorry, sir, I couldn't resist. I've been catching hell from your proverbial sons and daughters since Saturday."

"Not all of them, I assume."

"No," Harry conceded with a shrug. "But enough to make me want to gloat a bit."

The Potions Master's black eyes grew serious, though the smirk remained on his thin, pale lips. "In the future, avoid doing so within my classroom. Outside of these walls, you are a student like any other, but here, you are my assistant, with a position of authority even over the peers in your Year."

The smile on Harry's face disappeared, to be replaced by a look of chagrined guilt as he turned away from that burning gaze. "Yessir, I apologize. I guess I didn't realize just what being your assistant implied."

Well, at least that explained why Snape was so different when they were alone, though it failed to explain why, after nearly seven years, he was suddenly being nice at all. It felt strange and somehow exhilarating for someone in power to consider him, even on a temporary basis, as being on even ground rather than below, or worse, above them. The Gryffindor started slightly when a shockingly warm hand gently caressed his shoulder. He turned to see Snape standing almost on top of him, his face almost kind.

"An adjustment period is to be expected, Potter."

Harry smiled shyly. "Thanks."

A short, slow nod before the older wizard stepped back and turned to his desk. A quick wave of his wand had the student phials vanishing. Harry watched this with interest.

"Where do they go?"

Snape smirked at him over his shoulder. "A cupboard, in my office, with shelves labeled for each class. I will grade them tonight before I begin my rounds." He turned to Harry again. "In time, you will assist me with both."

Harry's eyes widened. "I'm going to help you with your rounds?"

The smirk widened slightly to a half-smile. "Fear not Mister Potter, it will only be on the weekends that I ask that of you."

Harry chuckled breathlessly. "No, no, sir, I trust you to keep in mind my classes and stuff when you're scheduling my job as your assistant, I'm just amazed that you'll be giving me _permission_ to be out of bounds, even if it is under your supervision." He said.

"Well, you _will_ actually be working, Mister Potter," Snape told him seriously. "Don't make any mistake about that. You will be expected to perform a number of tasks outside the parameters set for the typical student."

"I understand," The Gryffindor answered, just as serious, his laughter gone.

Snape nodded. "Let's go over what you will be doing in my classroom as an observer. For the most part, you will be taking notes for now. I want you to observe how I run my classroom, and I want you to think about how you would behave differently in your own classroom. Don't worry about what you say in your notes, they are for your use. We'll do that for the next few weeks, so that you can make adjustments as you see fit."

"So," Harry started, unsure. "I'll start really assisting by about Christmas?"

Another nod. "Before, if I think you're ready."

Harry grinned. "Brilliant." He paused, looking away as he thought. "But…I know you said my notes were for my use, but can I ask questions? Obviously not during the classes, but before or after, am I allowed to ask questions?"

"Such as?"

"I dunno," Harry admitted. "I guess about your teaching style. Like, say, if you react to an event, am I allowed to ask why you did this instead of that?"

Snape smiled again. It was disconcerting how much he was doing that, but Harry couldn't help but love that he was the only one who got to see it. "You may ask, but I can't guarantee I will always give you a satisfactory answer."

The door to the classroom opened again before Harry could ask anything further, and students began filing in, the First Years chattering away like so many monkeys. Almost instantly, the Gryffindor opened his bag and dug out his self-inking quill and some parchment. The students were naturally rowdy, and he could already see Snape working to quiet them so he could start the day's instruction. It made sense now why he wanted his classes silent, the disruption of gossip was just that, a disruption, not to mention grating. When you were in on the conversation, it seemed important, but from the front of the room it all just sounded like noise. Now he understood the purpose of these observations. Things were already looking much different from up here.


	6. Chapter 6

The following Saturday, Harry appeared at the door to Snape's office feeling good about how the day had gone so far. Rogers had been much more approachable than he had been previously, showing an exceeding amount of pride in Harry's easy mastery over Defense. He had been warm with Harry and his friends, and as excited about the new techniques as they were, even going so far as to having gotten his own copy of the text. They had had a great first lesson, even if it had been down to mostly theory before they got to try those first few tricks. Harry had picked them up immediately, as if he'd known them all along, Hermione had been a bit slower, Ron had tried but remained a step behind, and Rogers had been complimentary the entire time. A perfect day, so far.

The Gryffindor knocked on the door he'd been standing in front of, and when the command came for him to enter he did so with a touch of trepidation. He had done the "homework", but he was no longer so sure about the list of interests he'd gathered. Some of them, even if they _were_ his true interests, seemed silly now that he was really about to talk with someone about them.

Harry paused halfway into the dimly lit office when he realized that Snape wasn't at his desk.

"Over here, Potter."

He turned to see the man in question sitting in a corner behind the door, the only one clear of shelves filled with questionable ingredients. He was sat in a comfortable burgundy armchair, somewhat facing a matching seat, a low table between the two. Harry smiled nervously and moved to the empty chair.

"You went to an awful lot of trouble," He said carefully, unsure of the man's attitude.

Snape smirked. "I thought this might be more comfortable for our purposes," He answered in a soft tone.

Harry sat down on the edge of the seat, lowering his bag onto the floor. "I appreciate that, sir…it does help to relieve some of my anxiety, though I still feel unsure about the list you had me make."

The trademarked raised eyebrow. "Let me see."

With a small blush, Harry reached down and dug the scroll out of his bag. He handed it over and chewed nervously on his bottom lip as Snape unfurled the surprisingly long slip of paper. The other eyebrow joined the first the further down the man read.

"You have surprising aspirations, Mister Potter." The man said after reading the entire list.

Harry's blush deepened. "Well…I didn't really go into detail at all." He sat even further forward, scooting around in the seat to look at the list as Snape held it slightly out to him. "Like, with Transfiguration, I don't mean every aspect, or even hardly any at all, though I'm a fair hand at a lot of it. The thing I'm interested in most is the creation of art from everyday objects. When I was a third year, some of the older years taught us how to create Christmas ornaments, however we wanted. I wasn't sure if that could even tie into a profession, but you said to list my interests, so…"

"I understand," Snape said, giving Harry a soft smile. "I did say that, and you were right to include it; artist, whilst not a typical career, is still one considered as viable in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. As is being a chef, as I see cooking is also listed."

"Really, art is okay?" Harry inquired uncertainly. "I thought, with spells being so readily available in our world, people would simply make their own."

Snape leaned forward and caught Harry's gaze. "Beauty," He began softly. "Is appreciated everywhere, Potter."

The blush returned to Harry's cheeks, but he didn't respond as Snape returned to looking at the list.

That black gaze turned to him, stunned curiosity visible in the shining orbs. "Potions?"

"Yeah." Harry bit his lip, leaning away from the man and staring at his hands in his lap. "I know, with my skill it seems stupid, but I really find Potions fascinating. I'm not good enough to become a Master, I'm not even confident enough to try, but…there's just something peaceful about creating a potion. Not like you do, not actually _create_ a potion, but the simple act of following a set of guidelines and having something impossible come out of it is amazing."

"Thank you, Potter." Harry looked up sharply. "I think you just substantiated my entire career."

Harry gave a small smile at that. "Well, at least my interest in Potions isn't entirely useless."

"Why are you so sure it is useless at all?" Snape inquired. "There are plenty of Potions Masters and apothecaries that hire on assistants to create basic potions for sale. And, while your grades have never been to my standards, the few times you have truly concentrated on your work you have achieved a level acceptable to most others."

"You really think so?"

The edges of Snape's mouth curled up in that small smile Harry was quickly growing attached to.

"You are a very capable wizard, Mister Potter, don't doubt that, and you would be an asset in any number of careers."

Harry grinned at the astounding commendation he had never expected to receive from the normally stoic Potions Master. He was quickly coming to like who Snape was when they were alone, especially if the man continued to hand out underhanded compliments. They continued to go through the list for the next hour or more, and by the time Harry headed back to his dorm to get ready for Dinner he felt like he was walking on air.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry spent the next two weeks working as an observer in the Potions Classroom. He quickly found that, while he didn't agree entirely with the abrupt way Snape treated his students, he understood why a certain amount of strictness was necessary. The students, for the most part, were impossibly immature, and foolish around volatile materials, as if they couldn't comprehend of something in a classroom being dangerous. The only thing that stood between them and permanent scarring, disfigurement, or death, was the stern attitude and quick reflexes of their professor.

In a class like Flitwick's, or Binns', it was easy to ignore the follies of your students when the worst that could happen was a botched tickling charm (there was always the exception, like Seamus, but those seemed few and far between). But in a Potions or Defense classroom? Work like that required a stern hand and keen eye.

It didn't take long for Harry to begin _admiring_ the way Snape ran his classroom. Aside from the few stubborn kids (mostly Gryffindors), the students generally managed to stay on task under the watchful eye of the Potions Master. After two weeks of observing, both as Snape's assistant and as a student in his regular classes, the Wizarding Savior was starting to realize just how great a feat that was.

Snape was finishing out the Second Year class when the first real incident occurred. It was the last class on Friday afternoon, Double Potions with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. They were working on their Shrinking Solution, and bottling them up, when an argument broke out between two of the Ravenclaws. Before Snape could get to them, one shoved the other, knocking over the potion the two had been bottling. The Potion spread quickly across the floor, and screams rang out as the other twelve year olds leapt out of the way. One Hufflepuff was too slow, and the potent solution swept over his shoe. His scream joined the others, but it was one of pain as his shoe constricted around his foot.

"Corley, take your Housemate to the infirmary," Snape commanded loudly over the screams. He cast a spell that banished the mess before there could be more victims and rounded on the two Ravenclaws as the two Hufflepuffs left the room. "What were you thinking?!"

Both children cowered before the towering menace of the Potions Master, the girl whimpering, and simultaneously tried to stammer out an explanation. Harry managed to make out that each was trying to lay the blame with the other. He'd have rolled his eyes if Snape wasn't scaring the two kids so badly. Even the other students had stilled for fear of drawing his ire.

"You reckless, idiotic, wastes of-"

"Professor!" Harry interrupted, jumping off his stool.

That burning gaze rounded on him, and despite the fear he felt, Harry stood firm behind his challenge. A silent war passed between them, and before any resolution was reached, Snape turned back to the cowering Ravenclaws. Harry didn't dare relax, knowing he would get what-for after the students were gone.

"You will both have detention with me every night of the weekend, starting tonight at 8 sharp. You will learn to treat my classroom with the respect it deserves." Black eyes glanced around at the other students. "Put your phials on my desk, class dismissed."

The usual mad scramble was forsaken in favor of an orderly, silent dismissal. Snape remained where he stood, staring Harry down with arms crossed firmly over his chest. Still eerily silent, the class filed out, several sympathetic glances shot in Harry's direction before finally the door shut behind the last Hufflepuff.

Still, Snape only glared at Harry, who remained frozen beside his stool. When he did speak, it was with a tone as cold as ice, the warmth Harry normally associated with them being alone utterly gone from him. His stance alone said that Harry would not escape this encounter unscathed.

"Potter-"

"I know," Harry interrupted quickly. "It was dumb, and foolish, and completely disrespectful, but I-I couldn't just let you belittle them like that."

A cool raised eyebrow, no words, no outward change beyond that lone slip of the mask.

"Look, Snape, I'm sorry, I really, really am. But…" Harry looked away, struggling to find the words. "The fact is, most of the time, the way you run your classroom seems to me to be almost flawless. You command respect, and attention, neither of which do any of the other professor's get from as many kids in this school as you do."

"Then why-" The voice remained hard.

"Because it's not right!" Harry looked back at the man with his own fire. "I can only _hope_ that I will someday command the respect you do from my _own_ students, should I choose to teach. But every time you insult or demean one of your students, you destroy that respect and replace it with fear and hatred, which does nothing but cause those children to make more mistakes."

Snape continued to stare back at him, silent, arms still crossed tensely over his chest.

"You're a brilliant teacher, Snape," Harry said, almost pleading now. "And I understand that even you can lose your temper sometimes, but when you do you're only masking the good you do with the fear of _children_. Believe me, by the time we reach fifth or sixth year, it stops being about fear. We either forget or willfully ignore any good you've done in favor of an unprecedented loathing to _mask_ that fear."

The staring contest resumed for a long, heart-stopping moment. The Gryffindor was sure he was still seconds from being thrown bodily from the classroom, banished for good. Then, slowly, the arms uncrossed. He wasn't sure until the man spoke whether or not this was a good sign.

"I will take that under advisement," Snape said slowly, not looking away from Harry's green gaze.

Harry sighed in relief, his shoulders drooping.

"You're not off the hook."

The Wizarding Savior flinched and stared at the toes of his shoes. "I-I know."

"You are my _assistant_ , and as such it is not within your purview to openly question my methods in front of my students, is that understood?"

"Yessir."

Another set of shoes appeared in Harry's line of sight, and a finger and thumb on his chin forced his eyes up to stare into that soft gaze.

"That said, you did well." Green eyes widened in surprise, making the Potions Master smirk. "You stood your ground, you didn't cower in front of the students. That's good. _If_ you become a teacher, you will be so much the better because you won't allow your own feelings to cloud your judgement, and you won't allow someone else to rule your classroom."

Harry felt a sudden and brief urge to kiss the man standing less than a foot from him, and boy did he want to examine _that_. He felt a blush rise as the man thankfully moved away to banish the vials on his desk.

"You will return tonight, to help me with my grading while Kapley and Gord serve their detention, and afterwards you will accompany me on my rounds. During that time, we will discuss your growing role in my classroom." He turned back to Harry with a delicious smirk. "You said you had an interest in basic potions. We will see how far that carries into your ability to teach."

"Seriously?" The Gryffindor couldn't believe that being an impulsive idiot had once again led to good things. McGonagall was right, he was rife with dumb luck.

"You're still not off the hook." The man answered, earning him an earnest nod. "However, I think you have proven today that you are ready to take on more responsibility. I cannot give you a detention, as you really aren't acting in the parameters of a student, however I can assign you work. You will write at least six inches on how you would run your own classroom. I want it to be a comparative piece."

"But you said my notes were for my own use," Harry argued.

"And then you interrupted my classroom," Snape responded quickly, his smirk never faltering. "Although, I didn't say that you had to compare your method to mine. It's obvious you've been studying your other professors, even if it is only minor observations, and you are free to choose from one of them."

The Gryffindor chewed his lower lip as he thought, and the Potions Master said nothing in that time. Finally, Harry looked up into those black, unknowable pools. "Does it have to be teaching alone?"

"Explain."

Harry huffed a laugh and smoothed his fringe down over his scar. "Um, okay…like, you and McGonagall, and the way you behave towards your Houses. Professor McGonagall is as stiff and distant with us Gryffindors, even one-on-one, as she is with any other student. In contrast, you willfully and publicly favor your Slytherins." Snape frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but Harry stopped him. "Everyone knows it, there's really no point in denying it. The _difference_ isn't just in how you behave towards your students, it's in how they react to it. We Gryffindors don't have a safety net, we don't have someone to tell us when we're doing right, only when we're doing wrong, and for whatever reason that causes us to act out even more. But Slytherins, while they have their moments of misbehavior, are still almost consistently perfect angels around you, with only a few exceptions. I think that's because they are seeking your approval, whereas we will never get _any_ , no matter what we do. So, can I write about that? About how I would treat the students outside of the classroom as well, and how I feel that would impact my ability to guide them in ways outside of my subject? You said yourself that a large part of being a teacher is influencing your students' behaviors and view of the world at large."

The smirk returned in a quirk of thin, pale lips. "If you continue to use my words against me, Potter, I shall start to think you're mimicking me."

Harry grinned. "They say mimicry is the highest form of flattery." He wanted to smack himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

A raised eyebrow. "Indeed. In any case, you have my leave to write the essay as you see fit, so long as it is an examination of behavior, and how you would perform differently." Snape answered. "Give at least one example, be it an actual event or one you create yourself. Do _not_ use your career discussion with your Head of House, as you've already been told how that conversation should have gone."

"Yes, Professor, and thanks. It'll be easier to get my six inches if I have to fit in all of that information, plus an example," Harry grinned slyly.

The expression on Snape's face transformed into a piercing, knowing gaze. "Sneaky, manipulative-you're dismissed, Mister Potter, before you con me into dropping the essay altogether."

Harry's grin widened. "Yessir." He turned back to his small table and quickly gathered his things, that dark, rumbling chuckle ringing in his ears as he left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

For the next week, Harry assisted not only with Snape's First and Second Year classes, but with his weekend grading and rounds as well. He was still mostly observing in the classroom, but now he was observing the students as much as the Potions Master, occasionally guiding them when Snape was busy with another student. It was starting to look more and more like teaching was really his true calling, but he didn't dare say so to Snape for fear it would end their weekly career meetings. After that startling urge to kiss the man in his classroom, he had begun to find that he was becoming very attracted to the older wizard. So far it was only when they were alone, though, and he thought maybe that was something he needed to explore further.

His extra "classes" with Rogers were going incredibly well, too, and he found the man was easy to talk to, charming even. He was already advancing beyond his peers in his regular tutoring, and, despite Ron and Hermione leaving for the holiday, the man offered to continue his study of Metting's techniques over the Break. In spite of his sudden and confusing attraction to nice-Snape, Harry felt that his life was going pretty well. Of course, that's usually about the time things start to go wrong, isn't it?

It was three days into the Break when Rogers finally approached Harry, who was studying in the Library out of boredom. Without Ron and Hermione, and with Snape having cancelled their meetings for the holiday, he was bored. He had started working like Snape had suggested, exploring other options besides teaching. His art was coming along; Snape had even absconded with his first official sculpture, which had been his own version of a Madonna (Mary) statue he'd seen as a child. Now, the Boy Who Lived was going through a Potions text, trying to decide if he was a match for the theory as much as the brewing.

Harry looked up as someone sat beside him at the small table. He smiled at the charismatic Defense Master.

"Good morning, Professor."

"Good morning, Harry," The man replied smoothly. "I thought you weren't in Advanced Potions?"

Harry blushed and closed his book, moving it out of sight. "I'm not, I'm just sort of doing independent research. I've only got until February to inform my Head of House if I want to take the NEWT."

The man smiled and put a hand on Harry's arm. "Why bother? You're a genius at Defense, you have even surpassed me on a few of the lessons in Metting's book. You don't need Potions to pursue what you're truly passionate for." The hand rubbed his bare arm soothingly.

Harry smiled and gave a breathy laugh. "It's not-I don't _need_ Potions, no, but whether I pursue Defense or something else, it'll be good to have Potions in my background. They're used for so much, I'll need them for even day-to-day. A more advanced knowledge will even _help_ with Defense, as evidenced by the techniques I'm learning with you," The 17 year old explained, moving his arm out from under the uncomfortable touch of Rogers' too-soft fingers sliding over his skin.

Rogers started to scoot closer, a hand on the back of Harry's chair, but a couple of students chose that moment to walk past and he moved away again. "I suppose I can see where you're coming from. Potions never made that much sense to me, all that mixing, and stirring, and measuring exactly, it all seemed like a waste of time to me."

"I think they're brilliant," Harry told him immediately, grinning. "There's so much grace and…precision required to make even the simplest potion. I only wish I had half the talent my best friend does, and I can't imagine the skill it must have taken for Professor Snape to get a Mastery in the field."

The hand touched his back now, rubbing with long, gentle strokes. "I don't know, I think you could be graceful and precise. You've shown quite a bit of both in your Saturday lessons."

"Thanks," Harry murmured. "Was there something else, Professor?"

The hand stopped, low on his spine, and the older wizard shifted towards him. "Actually, yes, Harry. If you recall, I said before that we could move forward with your advanced lessons over the holiday. I thought perhaps you might join me in my office tonight, after Dinner, and we could go over the next chapter together."

The Wizarding Savior smiled. "Sure, sounds great, Professor." He slid his Potions text, another borrowed book, off of the table and leaned over to put it in his bag, dislodging the hand on his back. He turned back to Rogers as he stood. "Guess I'll see you this evening, Sir. I've got some real homework to do, though, rather than independent study, so I need to go and get those books from my dorm."

"Of course, Harry," The man said with a smile. "I shall see you this evening."

"Bye, then." Picking up his bag, the Boy Who Lived made a hasty retreat from the Library.

Talking about Potions with someone who didn't appreciate the subject after spending the last few hours reading about them, he suddenly had an idea for his next sculpture. Technically, it wasn't official homework, but he wanted to prove to Snape that he was taking his other options seriously. It had the added benefit of giving him a reason to go and spend time with the Potions Master alone.

Snape, after helping Harry do more research into other spells he could use to create real art, had ordered him several catalogues with different art materials. After some experimentation, the Seventh Year had discovered an affinity for working with and shaping stone. Buried in his trunk, under his robes and invisibility cloak, was a small pile of thick, rectangular blocks of soapstone, and a few onyx that he had sprung for should true inspiration strike.

He took one of those black stones out now and brought it down to the common room, where he was guaranteed a fair amount of privacy. With the threat of Voldemort and his goons gone from the world, the school was practically empty, as it had been in his third year. There were only two or three Gryffindors besides himself that had remained at the school, and they were all lower year Muggle Borns who were still in wonder over the magical world. One of them had been one of the students to walk past him and Rogers in the Library, and he knew that most of the other students were all out enjoying the snow, as only children could.

It took several hours for Harry to finish his new piece, and he'd had to transfigure it back into a block a few times to start again when it all looked wrong. After working on his sculptures for the last few weeks, they were no longer as crude as they had been. With the use of spells, he could smooth out edges and create details that would take a Muggle sculptor years to learn how to perfect. He had even gone the extra step of learning how to cast preservation charms on his work so they couldn't be broken without the use of spells. As a point of practice, he'd made special pieces as additional Christmas gifts for everyone. This one, he thought, would make the perfect gift for a certain Potions Master, as he'd had no luck finding any other gift on the last Hogsmeade weekend.

Once the small sculpture was complete, Harry sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath. He studied the small statue, a little less than a foot tall. It was an indiscriminate hooded figure standing over a large cauldron half its height, a long cylindrical stirring rod in its hands. It had taken several tries, but he'd managed to take some of the scraps of stone and shape them into little tendrils of fumes or smoke. There were three in all, perpetually suspended over the cauldron at differing heights.

After taking a moment to admire what he considered to be his first real masterpiece, Harry summoned one of the boxes leftover from his other gifts from his dorm and carefully slid the statue inside. Despite the preservation charms, he handled the box delicately as he wrapped it in the same silver paper he'd used for everyone else. He finished just as one of the younger years came in through the portrait, and quickly banished all the leftover splinters sprinkled across the table. He wasn't ready for everyone to know about his new pastime, not outside of the small circle of friends he'd made pieces for.

"H-hey, Harry," The younger boy said carefully. "You missed lunch."

Harry looked over at the First Year. It was Lyle Garner, an expressive student who'd developed an abrupt fear of the Wizarding Savior a week ago when Harry had been forced to use his new role to assign a detention. The boy had been trying to sabotage another student's potion, a Slytherin. Lyle didn't seem to understand that, outside of Potions class and Snape's rounds, Harry was without that power.

"Hey, Lyle," Harry said, smiling reassuringly at the small child. "Yeah, sorry, I was working on something."

The boy shrugged and threw himself, muddy shoes and soaked robes and all, onto the couch in front of the fire. "Don't know why you'd apologize to me. Snape seemed upset, though, when the Headmaster announced that you obviously weren't going to join us, started spewing off about you being selfish and inconsiderate; I guess 'cause the Headmaster made us wait to eat for like fifteen minutes."

Harry grimaced with guilt. "He did?"

"Yup," Lyle answered. "No one else cared, but Snape seemed to take it personally. Don't blame you for skipping, though, its bloody uncomfortable sitting at the same table as teachers, can't hardly say anything without them noticing."

Harry stood up from the table and went over to the couch, leaning over the back. "Don't swear, and get your muddy person down those stairs. I expect you to be showered, changed, and with clean shoes by dinner. Would you dirty up your mum's house this way?"

The boy cowered under Harry's steady green gaze. "N-no, sir, my mum would tan me something awful, I guess, if I did this at home."

Harry raised an eyebrow in query. "Then what on Earth makes it okay for you to do so here? This is your House, your home within the school. Just because we can't 'tan' you, that doesn't make it okay for you to disrespect the sanctity of this space. Now get, before I call Filch up and tell him who tracked mud through his corridors."

Lyle jumped off the couch and scurried towards the second set of stairs that led to the lower dorms. Harry called after the small, retreating form.

"And learn some basic cleaning and drying spells so we don't have to go over this again!"

"Yessir!"

Harry couldn't help a small chuckle. He was starting to understand why teachers seemed to enjoy telling off their students, and parents their kids; it wasn't really enjoyment, but there was a sort of satisfaction that came along with respect and a certain level of obedience, the kind that said you were doing something right in guiding their lives. After the young boy had disappeared down the steps toward his dorm, Harry grabbed the gift off the table and left Gryffindor for the dungeons after casting a general cleaning spell on the garishly red common room.

SSHP

"You missed lunch, Mister Potter."

Harry flinched at the accusing tone. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I was, uh…" He set the small, wrapped package on the desk. "I got to working on this and sort of lost track of time."

Snape looked up from what he was working on and stared at the silver package. "What's this?"

Harry blushed as those black eyes slowly rose to stare into his. "It's a, um, Christmas present. I don't actually know that you celebrate Christmas, but I thought I'd give it a shot." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and chewed at his bottom lip.

Snape returned to staring at the box for a minute before he finally spoke. "Thank you, Potter," He said at last, his tone soft and somewhat disbelieving. "I don't think I've ever received a gift from a student not in my own house, and even then they are usually from students who are, for Merlin knows what reason, infatuated with me."

Harry flinched again almost imperceptibly, and was glad Snape wasn't looking at him, as he was sure he looked terribly guilty. Technically, though he hadn't really figured out his feelings yet, he supposed he fell into the category of infatuated students. Since there were no rumors of Snape having affairs with his students, he got a cold feeling in his gut that, like the ones that came before him, Harry would have no luck with gaining the man's more romantic attentions. Somehow, this didn't at all dampen his desire to be around the Potions Master.

Taking a deep breath, the Potions Assistant sat down in the uncomfortable student chair in front of the desk. "I was wondering if you had any work for me?"

Snape looked up at him with a half-smile. "I believe I told you that your duties would be suspended for the Holiday. You're not even sure you want to teach, you shouldn't have to work the same hours we dedicated educators do," The man told him gently.

"I know," Harry murmured. "But…I've already finished all of my homework, I can only study so much Potions theory before my brain starts to feel fried, and art doesn't exactly flow when you're trying to force it."

"Can you think of nothing else to entertain you?" Snape asked seriously, frowning. "You are a teenager, Mister Potter, your frivolous pursuits should not be centered around potential future careers."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, leaning back in the chair. "I've never been much in the way of 'typical adolescent', have I? Yes, I have other interests outside of what careers I'm looking at, but there are only a few. You saw my list of interests, most of them are either studies-related or not available at the school. Gardening, cooking, all that, I can't do that stuff here. I mean, I guess I could bug Professor Sprout to maybe let me help her work in the Greenhouses, but honestly most of those plants give me the creeps."

Snape gave an appreciative chuckle. "I do not blame you, Potter. And I suppose I can see where you're coming from. With your friends gone, you have nothing to distract you, and your favorite pastime is not one that you can safely pursue alone."

"Pretty much," Harry agreed, nodding. "I mean, I've read practically every book on Defense in the library over the last 7 years, except in the restricted section, and I've read your book maybe a half a dozen times, but…Even I'm not conceited enough to try and practice untested techniques and spells alone, with no one to go for help if something backfires."

"Understandable, Mister Potter," The Potions Master said calmly. He gestured widely to his desk. "But, I'm afraid I truly do not have anything for you to do. I have finished my Holiday grading; I'm currently working on my next submission to the Potions Journal, and some potions for the infirmary. I don't mean to belittle your limited skill with potions, but you are not precise enough in your ingredient preparation for my personal standard."

Harry bowed his head in disappointment. "I understand, Sir."

"However," The man added carefully. "I _am_ doing rounds tonight, from after dinner 'til late. You are welcome to join me, and together we can discuss some things you might do in your free time."

Harry groaned. "I can't," He said, looking up. Snape stared back, head cocked in confusion. "My friends and I have been working with Professor Rogers on the Defense book I borrowed from you, and, since I'm advancing beyond Ron and Hermione, he offered to work some more with me over Break, one-on-one. Specifically, he invited me to his office this evening, after dinner."

Snape suddenly scowled. "I see." His tone was cold and he started busily looking through the papers on his desk as if avoiding eye contact. "Well, since you are working with Rogers, you can have no reason to be here with me. Perhaps you should go and speak with him about entertaining your tireless adolescent mind."

"What?" The Gryffindor narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Sir, it's just Defense work. It only made sense to go to him, since he's the Defense Master, but we don't exactly have any sort of relationship outside of that. Why would I go to him with my boredom?"

"And what would give you the impression that you can bring your pointless drivel to me? Why should it fall to me to occupy you?" Snape demanded, still not looking at him.

Harry frowned and stood up. "I-I don't know, I guess I just…I don't know. I thought, since I was working with you, and our interactions have gone beyond simple student and teacher, I just assumed…" He shook his head, trailing off.

"For."

"What?"

Snape finally looked up at him sternly. This was mean-Snape, the Snape of the past and public. " _For_ , Potter, you work _for_ me, as my assistant, nothing more. The sooner you understand that, the better for us both."

Harry took a step back as if he'd been slapped, suddenly finding it hard to breathe past the lump in his throat. "Yeah, r-right, 'course…Don't-don't know what I was thinking. _Thank you_ , Sir, for clearing that up for me." He started to back away towards the door. "Um, Happy Christmas, Professor." With that, the Wizarding Savior turned and fled from the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry sent an owl to Rogers that evening, telling him he couldn't come down for study and practice due to an upset tum. Though he'd claimed to have eaten too many Christmas sweets, he hadn't really lied about feeling ill. Ever since Snape had made it abundantly clear that there was no…anything between them, his stomach had felt like it was in constant knots. The problem was that he couldn't quite understand this feeling. It was just supposed to be a simple attraction, adolescent hormones latching onto the nearest person.

But, that was exactly the problem. It didn't feel…right. He'd felt rejection before, heartbreak from a regular infatuation, but _this_ …it was deeper. There was no heartbreak, no tear in his innermost self, just a raw ache in his belly, like when you went too long without eating, but angrier. It was only then that Harry realized why his attraction seemed to lack the carnal sexual component his past crushes had had. There was the desire, sure, but…It was a deeper emotion. It was…he was falling in _love_. And, oh, didn't that just suck.

The next morning at breakfast, Rogers brought up his missed lesson. There was only Snape and the Headmaster at the table besides them, but Harry still blushed under the scrutiny the two gave him.

"I was disappointed by your note last night, Mister Potter," The Defense Instructor said as he took up a seat at the table. Harry looked at the man sharply as he felt the eyes of the Potions Master and Dumbledore turn to stare between them. Rogers continued as if he didn't notice. "I had assumed you were more dedicated to your study of Defense, only to find that you are deterred by a tummy ache? Very disappointing indeed."

Harry shrunk slightly in his seat, pushing the food around on his plate. "I'm sorry, Professor, I guess I was a little overzealous with the sweets after I missed lunch. It won't happen again."

"I should hope not, otherwise I may have to reconsider your extra lessons. I require a certain level of motivation, a desire to do whatever is necessary, from those I give my free time to. See to it that my time is not wasted by you again," Rogers said, still ignoring the surveillance of the two other professors.

"I think you'll find, _Caedus_ ," Snape growled, glaring at the Defense Master. "That Mister Potter is under no obligation to attend _any_ lessons, voluntary or otherwise, during the Christmas Break. It is, in fact, against the statutes of the school for a Professor to require any attendance of a student during the holiday outside of detentions and meals, as it violates the student's rights. _Particularly_ if that student is feeling ill, no matter the cause of the illness. Potter could have been merely homesick and still have been well within his rights to excuse himself from your extra lesson."

Harry couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, me, homesick, that'll be the day."

"Hush, Potter." The black glare turned on him.

The green-eyed Gryffindor ducked his head sheepishly, still smiling at the ludicrous idea, and at being defended by the man. "Yessir."

Dumbledore spoke up now. "I'm afraid Severus is right. I'm sorry, Caedus, but it is not within your rights to terminate Mister Potter's lessons based on his inability to attend over the Holiday, not even the voluntary lessons. As a Professor of Hogwarts, it is your job to help your students, and having already made the official request to assist Mister Potter and his friends, you will have to give a viable reason for termination, one that _I_ approve of."

Rogers pursed his lips. "Of course, Headmaster. I only meant to impress upon Mister Potter the importance of these lessons, and my sacrifice in giving them."

"I can tell you from experience," Snape answered, still in a low growl. "That, while Mister Potter has appeared listless and self-involved in the past, he is not in the habit of intentionally wasting _anyone_ 'stime. As for the importance of the lesson, I doubt even you could have missed just how necessary Defense Against the Dark Arts has been to Potter's survival."

Harry stifled a second snort at the barely concealed suggestion that Rogers was ignorant of the world around him. He failed miserably at hiding his laugh, and earned a sharp look from both Masters before they returned to staring at one another. It suddenly occurred to the Wizarding Savior that there was a silent battle between them, though over what he couldn't fathom. He wondered if perhaps Snape was angry with Rogers' breach of teaching etiquette, the way he had been with McGonagall's. The tension was broken when a couple of other professors trickled in with a few sluggish students trailing behind. It was obvious that McGonagall and Sprout had gone and retrieved them from their dorms, as the children were only half-awake.

Snape returned immediately to his breakfast, ignoring Harry entirely when he tried to catch his eye. The Gryffindor couldn't reconcile this recent defense with the cold attitude, and found his stomach returning to its knotted state from the night before. Unable to eat, he stood and carried himself from the Great Hall, doing his best to appear unfazed. When he reached the Entrance Hall, he paused outside the massive doors and drew a deep breath to relieve the tension in his abdomen.

He was knocked from his feet when the door to the Great Hall opened behind him.

"Potter."

Harry groaned and rolled over, sitting up to look up at the Potions Master. "Sorry, Professor, should have been paying attention to my surroundings."

"Indeed," The man sneered as Harry rubbed at the shoulder that had been hit.

"God, I'm a clutz." The Gryffindor muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "Sorry, again, Professor." He turned to go, then turned back. "Thanks, by the way, for helping in there with Professor Rogers. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my extra lessons. Defense is the only thing I'm really sure of anymore, now that I'm not fighting an impossible war."

"Not so impossible, considering you won."

Harry scoffed. "Sure felt like it at the time. I only won by dumb luck." He gave a stiff smile. "Anyway, thanks, like I said." He turned to go, but was stopped by a question, so soft he almost missed it.

"Why did you go to him?"

The Seventh Year looked back, furrowing his brow. He gripped his throbbing shoulder as he turned to face the professor again. "Honestly? Because I was afraid to ask you," He admitted. Snape stared at him, emotionless, but Harry could see the question in his eyes. "I get that it is your book, and based on the comments in it, you know it better than anyone, except maybe the author. If it had been just me, maybe I would have asked, though maybe not because you're already helping me so much. But, the fact is, I knew from the start that Ron and 'Mione would want to study with me, any chance for an adventure. And, yeah, _maybe_ you'd have agreed to teach us, but they definitely wouldn't have gone along with it. I told you, we stop feeling the fear by Fifth or Sixth Year and mask it with hatred. I didn't, but I never really feared you. _My friends_ did, though, and Hermione hides it well but even she wouldn't voluntarily spend time with you outside of regular classes. The solution, rather than alienate my friends on the off chance that you'd teach me, was to ask the next best thing: the resident Defense Master. I actually thought it'd be a boon, since he's the first Defense _Master_ I've seen at this school, and figured he'd probably have learned the techniques to achieve his Mastery. Turned out he didn't even know the book existed, but by then it was too late to turn back, we'd already asked."

Snape studied him in silence for a long, tense moment, and Harry stood his ground defiantly despite his aching shoulder. When the man finally did speak, he was still distant, but the ice was gone.

"Very well, Mister Potter. I suppose you have explained yourself adequately. You should have Madame Pomfrey look at your shoulder." Snape spun sharply on his heel, and it was Harry's turn to stop him from going with a question.

"Why does it bother you that I went to him?"

Snape glanced over his shoulder, but kept walking. "It is not my place to demean my colleagues, Potter, by gossiping. See to your shoulder."

Harry frowned at yet again receiving no real answer to what he considered an important question. After a frustrated moment where he desperately wanted to take off after Snape and demand answers for his behavior, his sudden shift in attitude, and his strange disapproval of Rogers, Harry headed up to Gryffindor. Forget his shoulder, he was confused and annoyed and wanted nothing more than to do something constructive for the next few hours, where he didn't have to think. This time, though, he had something else to prove, and it required his Potions text from First Year.

SSHP

Christmas morning came with a whimper in the breaking dawn. Harry had been awake when the House Elves brought his pile of gifts, grown from years past thanks to his defeat of the Dark Lord. Before they could disappear as silently as they had come, Dobby realized Harry wasn't in his bed, but in the window alcove beside it. The excitable House Elf had disappeared and reappeared with two mugs of hot chocolate. The two unlikely friends had sat in the window and watched the sun come up together, and Harry had eventually invited Dobby to join him in opening his presents.

Dobby had retrieved his small pile of gifts (from Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Dumbledore) and together, as the Thestrals played tag in the dusty beams of the Winter sun, they opened their gifts. Harry first went through the gifts from strangers, picked out the things he could actually use, discarded the few creepily personal gifts (marriage proposals, underwear, etc), and set the rest aside for Dobby to take to others in the castle who could use or enjoy them. From his friends, he received the usual books, mountain of sweets, pranks, the occasional useful item, and his annual Weasley sweater. At the bottom of the pile were two presents he had not expected.

"Why would Rogers and Snape give me presents?"

Dobby shrugged in the midst of the pile of open presents.

Harry frowned and reached for the one from Rogers. Snape made a little sense, a last minute thing in return for Harry's gift, but Rogers had no reason to give him something. Like he'd told Snape, as far as he knew there was nothing special about the student-teacher dynamic he shared with the Defense Master. He grimaced at the garish green and red wrapping paper and the gaudy golden bow. Ripping away the paper, he discovered a small jewelry box.

"What in the hell am I going to do with this?"

Dobby shrugged again as Harry drew a thin gold chain out of the box, a brazen silver pendant of a unicorn, massive in size, dangling at the bottom. He summoned a pen and paper and penned a quick 'thanks, but I don't wear jewelry' thank-you card, setting it aside with the other quick notes he'd made. He set the pendant aside.

"Guess I could always give it to Ginny, or Luna…they like this kind of stuff," Harry murmured.

"But, Master Harry Potter, Sir, Master Professor Rogers gave the gift to you. He be knowing if you pass it off to someone else," Dobby argued.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll give it to one of them as a graduation gift next year. Better?"

An enthusiastic nod, making the Gryffindor chuckle as he reached for his last gift. It was a square box wrapped economically in brown paper and twine. Part of him wanted to preserve the rare and unusual show of kindness outside of their time alone, but the rest was just curious about what the man could possibly have given him. Finally, adolescent curiosity won out, and he tore into the package, opening the box to find a short note and a little glass phial filled with golden liquid on a bed of cotton batting.

 _A simple recipe that creates impossible things._

 _Felix Felicis, for your sheer dumb luck._

"Felix-" Harry frowned, unsure of what the potion was, then slowly his vibrant green eyes widened as he recalled snippets from a passage in the Potions text Snape had lent him. He threw himself at the end of his bed, landing on his stomach as he reached for his bag. He snatched it from the top of his trunk and withdrew the large Advanced Potions text. He flipped through it several times until he found the passage he was looking for. It was in a list of potions at the back, with references to other texts you could find the recipes in. The list gave a brief description of the potion's use. Harry began to read it aloud.

"Felix Felicis, otherwise known as Liquid Luck, gives the drinker incalculable luck for a given period of time based on the dosage. High doses are toxic, causing recklessness and feelings of infallibility," Harry said to the mostly empty dorm room. "Could've used that in the fight with Voldemort."

Dobby leaned over Harry's hand, staring at the vial. "Whoo, Master Professor Snape has given Harry Potter a very valuable gift."

Harry pulled the vial away and placed it back in the box, replacing the lid. "Yeah, he did. The question is 'why' he did it, and what the hell I'm supposed to do with it."

Dobby's tiny hand touched Harry's gently. "Harry Potter will know, when it's time."

Harry smiled at his little friend. "Thanks. I guess this is just another taboo question I'm not supposed to ask." He looked back at the text. "This must have been hidden in Snape's stores for quite a long time, it's got a six month settling period. But…this is a practically impossible potion, this isn't a last minute sort of gift, he had to have given this a lot of thought. Why would he do that?"

"Harry Potter will know," Dobby repeated cryptically.

"Guess so," Harry murmured, staring at the box in confusion. Despite the idea of what that sort of luck might be like, he had no burning desire to use the potion. It didn't seem like one of those things you used on an impulse, or without good reason.


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the students returned the night before classes were due to resume. Harry, who had spent the rest of the Break hidden away in the Room of Requirement, waited nervously for Hermione to come down from her dorm. Rogers hadn't called for anymore unscheduled classes after Snape and Dumbledore's talking-to, and with nothing more to do, he had spent the last week of the holiday trying to prove to himself that he could improve. But now he needed someone to vindicate his work.

Harry looked up as the door to the upstairs girl's dorms opened and Hermione started down the steps. She paused halfway down to talk to a younger girl, and Harry rolled his eyes. He glanced at the door to the boy's dorm, then walked over and placed a foot on the bottom step of the girl's stairs. Hermione and the Third Year screamed as the staircase vanished beneath their feet, forcing them to slide to the bottom where Harry stood.

"Harry!"

The brunette Gryffindor chuckled, offering a hand to each girl and pulling them to their feet. "I told you, I need your help, 'Mione."

The witch glared as she was hoisted up. "Don't call me that."

Harry rolled his eyes again, released the Third Year's hand, and started to drag his friend through the common room. "It's really important, Hermione, I promise." He turned, and the girl stuttered to a halt inches from crashing into him. "But you can't tell Ron, okay? He'll just think I'm being an idiot."

Hermione frowned. "Harry-"

"I know, boyfriend, can't lie to him, et cetera, I know. But, please?" Harry pleaded, giving her his best doleful look.

Hermione rolled her eyes now. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry, Ron and I know we have secrets from each other. We're dating, not _married_. No, I was just going to say that you shouldn't worry about what Ron thinks, of anything. You're your own person; you don't need anyone's approval."

"So you keep telling me," Harry murmured, smiling. "Now, come on." He returned to pulling her out of the common room, all the way to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. After crossing in front of the tapestry three times, he dragged her into the RoR when it appeared across the corridor. He released her hand and practically skipped over to the table in the center of the room.

Hermione stared at the ingredients spread across the wooden surface. "Harry, what is-"

"What do you think?" He asked, grinning.

She laughed. "Are you making a salad?" The witch chuckled, walking over. She picked at a pile of mushy red goo. "You've butchered this tomato."

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that was an early attempt. But, no, not a salad, I've been working on my ingredient preparation, and it didn't make sense to use actual potions ingredients, since they're kind of expensive. Dobby's been bringing me vegetables and fruits that mimic the most common, and even some unusual, ingredients." He looked at his friend apprehensively. "This is my most recent stuff."

Hermione walked around the table to where he was gesturing and looked over the ingredients. "Why did you do all this?"

The Wizarding Savior blushed. "It's, uh…something Snape said over break. I realized I wouldn't ever get better at Potions unless I improved my ingredient prep."

Hermione scoffed and stared at him. "But you're not even _in_ Potions anymore, why would you-" Her eyes widened comically. "You're smitten with him!"

Harry lurched back. "What?! No, I'm not!"

"It's written all over your face, Harry! Oh, Merlin, you're not just smitten, you're really falling for him!" Hermione exclaimed with a knowing smile.

"No! I-okay, yes, but not all of the time!" Harry admitted.

His friend frowned. "Explain."

The Potions Assistant sighed, smoothing his fringe down and biting his lower lip. "It's stupid, really. I told you, a couple months ago, that he was behaving differently, right?"

"Yeah, but you couldn't say how," Hermione conceded.

"Well, I'm going to try, but you _really_ can't tell Ron, about any of this," Harry began. The witch nodded. "Okay, so, when we're alone, and I don't mean like that, but when we're together somewhere like his office or his classroom, and there's no chance for someone to walk in…he's _nice_. And I don't mean Flitwick-nice, not like that, but kind of like…oh, I dunno, like I'm nice to First Years, nice. Not doting and sweet, but still kind, and willing to chat. He even jokes with me, and smiles, sort of. Then, when we're in the corridors, or anywhere near other people, he's just like he used to be. Mean, dismissive…well, you know how he can be. But, even when he's being an ass, he's still somehow…nicer than before."

Hermione's frown deepened. "He hasn't…said or done anything to encourage this, has he? When you're _alone_?"

"No!" Harry answered immediately. "But, that's part of what makes me like him." The girl raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I know, like I said, this whole thing is stupid. I _like_ that he isn't expecting something from our interactions. He doesn't want anything to do with me romantically, and considering how many people in the Wizarding World want a piece of me, it's really great to have someone treat me like I matter without expecting something in return. It's different than with my friends, though, it's…like when I talk to you. I get to be just-Harry, not what anyone else wants me to be. You said it yourself, I'm my own person, and when I talk to him I _feel_ like I am."

Hermione looked at him like he had two heads. "You're…Let me get his straight. You're falling in love, with _Snape_ , but it's in part because he _doesn't_ love you?"

Harry couldn't help a small laugh as he rubbed the back of his head. Put that way, it sounded so very familiar. "I guess I take after my dad, after all, huh?"

"Oh, Harry," The girl sighed, walking over and wrapping him in a hug. "That's really sweet. And _really_ sad. But," She pulled away, running her fingers through his hair. "You know nothing can come of it, right? Even if you're not in his class, he's still a professor, and you're still a student."

Harry pulled away from his friend. "I'm not an idiot, 'Mione!" He argued defensively. "I'm not going to try something, I'm not _that_ impulsive. I _know_ that he could lose his job if anyone ever even suspected something was going on between us. Why would I risk that happening when I know for a fact that he doesn't even feel the same way? Merlin, Hermione, what do you think of me?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I said too much, I shouldn't-I didn't mean to imply that you would do anything foolish, I only meant that you had to be careful. If Snape finds out…" His friend trailed off apprehensively.

"I know," Harry said, nodding. He looked back at the ingredients on the table and drew a deep breath. "Anyway, what do you think about my prep work? Am I making progress, at least?"

Hermione smiled sweetly and turned to study the food. "I'd say so. You're better at getting the cuts uniform, though it could still use some work, and it's not all as mangled as you used to do. With some more practice, you might be as good as me or, I hate to say it, Malfoy."

The Wizarding Savior grinned. "Thanks, that means a lot. I doubt I'll ever be as quick about it as you are, and I'll definitely never be as precise as Snape, but I'm really glad I haven't just been wasting my time."

His friend looked up at him curiously. "But, I still don't know why you're even bothering with this, Harry. I know you said you were looking at potential careers in the lower ranks of Potion making, but you don't have to be any better at prep than you were for that, and I don't see how Snape is going to notice any of your hard work without you being in his class."

"I'm, uh…" Harry hesitated. "I've decided to take the Potions NEWT. I already told McGonagall, and I could definitely use your help studying for it."

"Harry, that's great!" Hermione squealed, hugging him again. "Of course, I'll help! Why didn't you tell me you were thinking about taking the NEWT? There's so much you can do with it, I could've convinced you sooner."

"I appreciate that, 'Mione, and I'm glad you'll help. I didn't tell anyone, though, because I needed to figure it out for myself," Harry explained. "I know you would've convinced me, but I had to decide on my own if it was really what I wanted." He pulled his wand and banished the mess on the table. "We should go, Ron is probably wondering where we are, and dinner is going to start soon."

The bushy-haired witch nodded and together they left the room. On their way back to the common room, she paused.

"Harry?"

The Gryffindor turned and walked back to her. "What's the matter?"

"You've been hiding a lot from us," She told him slowly. "Potions, your _feelings_ , and those beautiful sculptures…Ron showed me his on the train, told me about the one you sent to his mum…and I love mine, it's amazing, but neither of us even knew you liked art, let alone that you could create such masterpieces. I mean, the quill is floating over the book, and the detail of the writing on the pages…Ron's Quidditch player just hangs in the air over the rings. Where did you even learn that spell?"

Harry blushed lightly, but didn't answer.

She placed a hand on his cheek, looking at him imploringly. "He's helping you so much, and it doesn't really matter why, I suppose, but…I don't understand why you felt you couldn't come to us with any of this. I didn't know you liked men, I didn't know you had an artistic streak, and I didn't know that you wanted to teach until after Snape made his uncommonly generous offer. I had to force you to talk to _him_ because no one else could figure out what was wrong with you. I know you don't feel like you can tell Ron everything, but you told me back there that you feel like you can be yourself around me, and I feel like I hardly know you anymore." She looked into his eyes sadly. "Why have you stopped telling me things, Harry? I thought we were friends."

"We are," Harry insisted. "I promise you, Hermione, you're my very best friend. I'm just trying to figure out who I am, and what I want from life. I just didn't know how to tell you that, since Voldemort died, I haven't been the same. I don't sleep nights, I have trouble eating…Talking with Snape, I've discovered that I have a purpose on this planet besides killing the boogeyman. I wanted to tell you, I knew you'd understand if I did, but I just didn't know how. It's kind of hard to put into words, the fact that you've no idea who you are."

Hermione rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. "Okay, Harry, I understand. I guess I should just be happy that you're talking to _someone_." She pulled her hand away and sighed. "You've always been a little secretive, hiding your pain and fears. That's why I asked for Snape's help in the first place, he's always been able to get under your skin when nobody else could. I'd honestly thought you two would wind up screaming at each other, and that he'd just keep pushing until you finally told him, or maybe snap you out of your funk long enough for you to tell me."

"And I can't thank you enough for doing that, it's given me the chance I never thought I'd have," Harry said, smiling and hugging her. "Thanks to you telling Snape, I get the chance to figure out who 'Harry Potter' really is."

"Well, I already know the answer to that," Hermione said, pulling back with her arms still around him. "You're a good friend, a good man, and, apparently, one hell of an artist."

Harry gaped playfully. "Hermione Granger, did you just _swear_?"

"Shut up, Harry." She smacked his chest, laughing, and making him laugh as well. "Come on, Ron's definitely going to think we were up to something if we don't get back."

They made their way back towards Gryffindor, laughing and joking as easily as they used to.

SSHP

Classes resumed the next day, and Harry was surprised, along with most of the school, to find the little statuette he'd given Snape was on display on the man's desk. No one, except Hermione, knew where the decoration had come from, nor why it had been deemed important enough to display on the otherwise barren platform.

Harry discovered that it was an apology when Snape returned to his bipolar behavior of kindness in private, dismissive in public. There were no words, no expressive mention, but when Harry had come into that first First Year class Monday afternoon, and seen the gift sitting there innocently, he had known. There had been a soft repentance in the black gaze and half-smile, a plea for forgiveness. And, though Snape gave no outward sign, there was a small scrap of parchment on his little table at the front of the room. The vibrant red ink thereupon boasted only one word- _With_. It was, in all likelihood, the closest thing to an apology that Snape was capable of giving.

Rogers had been far less subtle. His show of power over Christmas, and the talking-to he'd received from Snape and the Headmaster, had led to the cancellation of any further private sessions over the Holiday. Two days following the end of the Break, the man had sent Harry a note requesting his presence in his office after the last class of the day. When Harry had appeared, the man had earnestly apologized, pleading that his harsh behavior be forgotten. It had seemed odd, and a little pathetic, but Harry had put it out of his mind, still trapped in silent glee over the apology-that-wasn't from the Potions Master.

Ever since Harry's outburst that had interrupted Snape's class, the impossibly complex man had begun gauging his behavior towards his students. Gone was the practice of insulting them merely for the sake of doing so, and gone was the quick temper that made First Years soil themselves in fear. He wasn't congenial, not by any means, but it was now easier to discern (if you were looking for it) the care Snape had for all of his students, not just his Slytherins.

And Harry _did_ look.

His desire was growing from that first tender flame, and with the change in Snape's attitude towards him and everyone else, it was no longer limited to when they were alone. His dreams drove him mad; sometimes they were purely animalistic, but more and more often they were of a domesticity that Harry craved. And why shouldn't he? He had never known real happiness, had never felt the sort of affection that came from years of being in love. Not that he'd ever do anything about it, there wasn't enough Gryffindor courage in his entire House to make him do that.

So he watched, and with each passing day he grew to fear the depth of his feelings. When would it begin to show? Snape was more than clever, he was bound to notice eventually. It was this fear that forced him to start pulling away from the Potions Master. It wasn't obvious, he still performed his duties as assistant, still attended his weekly meetings…but he stopped showing up early, stopped staying behind for a simple chat. Instead, he found distractions. His Potions practice with Hermione, his art, his homework, and his work with Defense. Rogers seemed more than happy to oblige. More than once, Harry had remained after his extra tutoring to discuss different tactics and ideas he had about what he would do in certain situations. Ron had always been with him, desperately trying to achieve their level of conversation. But, as it always happened, nothing was as it seemed.


	11. Chapter 11

"Oh, Merlin, I need to go," Harry said, looking at his watch. "I'm going to have to run to get to Snape's office in time. Thank you, Professor Rogers, as always, our discussion has been most informative." He took up his bag, stuffing his notes and books in haphazardly.

"Uh, Harry, I wondered if I might have a moment more of your time?"

Harry looked up. "I'm sorry, Sir, I really can't." He turned to leave with Ron, but a firm hand gripped his elbow. He looked back, perturbed, to see Rogers staring at him imploringly.

"Please, Harry, it'll only take a moment." The man said softly. His hand released Harry's elbow and ran up his arm to his shoulder. "It's important."

The Boy Who Lived furrowed his brow, but nodded. "A-all right, sure, Professor." He looked to his red-haired friend still standing by the door. "Go on, Ron, I'll see you after dinner."

The red head nodded. "Okay, Harry…if Snape doesn't skin you for being late." He waved to Harry and the Defense Master, then walked out of the classroom, leaving them alone.

Harry turned to Rogers, subtly rolling his shoulder to dislodge the hand resting on it. "Is there something the matter, Sir?"

"Actually," Rogers started, his voice low. He took a step towards Harry, his hands reaching for him, and the Seventh Year took a less-than-subtle step back. The Defense Master pulled his hands back with a small, dismissive laugh. "What I wanted to discuss was what your plans are once you've graduated."

"I haven't any," Harry admitted, frowning in confusion. "I've been looking at a few career options, and I'm leaning heavily towards teaching, but if I do I want to get my Defense Mastery. I haven't put much thought as to what I'll do while I'm working on my submission, though. Why do you ask, Professor?"

Rogers walked over to his desk and leaned against the front, tapping the wood nervously. "I have to tell you, Harry, I've really enjoyed our time together these last few months. Working with you has been very…enlightening. I hope you've enjoyed it as well."

"What's this about, Professor?" The Gryffindor asked, growing frustrated.

"I want you to be mine, Harry," Rogers blurted out.

"What?" Harry was taken aback, unsure he had heard correctly.

"Heh," Rogers gave a breathy laugh, smiling apprehensively. "Leave behind those stuffy old potions down in those cold, wet dungeons, Harry. I'm asking you to be my assistant next year, while you're working on your submission to the Mastery Board. You're a genius at Defense, you make intuitive leaps that seem to me to be impossible until you've pointed them out, and I would be honored to have you working alongside me in the classroom."

The Boy Who Lived was struck speechless, his mouth moving, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat a few times, and when he spoke, his voice was almost nonexistent. "Really? You want me to be your assistant?"

"If you want."

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly finding his voice. "I-I mean, I have to think about it, it's a really big decision, but...I would _love_ to be a Defense Assistant. That's incredible, thank you, really!"

Rogers grinned back at him. "It is my pleasure, Harry."

"Wow, that's-" Harry struggled to find the words. "Thank you, thank you so much, Professor Rogers."

"I think we're beyond such formalities, Harry. Call me 'Caedus', please." The Defense Master said, walking over to the stunned Wizarding Savior. He rubbed Harry's cheek with the back of his fingers.

Harry huffed a nervous laugh and didn't answer, stepping away from the cold touch on his cheek. He glanced at his watch. "Thank you, again, Sir, and I will definitely give your offer some thought, but I really do have to go now. Professor Snape is going to be angry already that I'm late. If I don't go now I may very well forfeit my position in his classroom." He started backing away towards the door. "Thank you, really."

"Oh, o-of course, Harry, I wouldn't want to come between you and your work with our resident Potions Master. I…admire your dedication," Rogers called after him.

The Gryffindor blushed and turned, leaving the room. He ran the entire way from the Third Floor to Snape's office in the dungeons. Another glance at his watch told him that he was still nearly fifteen minutes late. He knocked on the door apprehensively and waited for the call to enter. When it came, he walked in with his head down, closing the door behind him.

"Sir-"

"You're late, Mister Potter."

Harry flinched. "I-I know, and I'm sorry, I really am. Professor Rogers kept me after our extra lesson to ask me something, and it took more time than I expected."

"I hope it was important. I was very clear before this began about how much I value my time, and you have wasted fifteen minutes of it with your tardiness," Snape growled, looking up from his desk with a hard glare.

Harry flinched again. "I know, I do, and I really am sorry. But it _was_ important. Professor Rogers offered me a position as his assistant next year."

"I see. And have you accepted?" Snape inquired, his voice as hard as his eyes.

"Uh, no," Harry told him softly. "Not yet. I mean, it's an amazing opportunity, as much as being your assistant has been, and it would give me something to do while I'm working on my Mastery, but…I don't know yet."

The look softened. "What's hanging you up? Is it that you haven't yet decided on teaching?"

"Not-not exactly," The Gryffindor said hesitantly. "It's true that I haven't settled on teaching yet, but I've gotten to the point that…well, I really think teaching _is_ what I want to do. The hang up is that I'm not sure I want to work with Professor Rogers. He's kind of a fanatic about Defense, he doesn't seem to care about anything else beyond it, and it kind of…freaks me out. I mean, it's great to have someone appreciate me for something aside from the whole murder thing, but...his attentions just feel off."

Snape rose slightly from his chair, leaning over his desk with a ferocity in his eyes that Harry had never seen before. "Has he done something to make you feel uncomfortable?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "No…not in so many words. It's just a feeling, really. I'm probably just being an idiot. Before you, I'd never had a person in authority take a vested interest in my welfare, and I don't know Rogers well-enough to understand his motivations. I'm just naturally suspicious of random kindness from people with power, it doesn't usually come without strings attached." Snape raised a challenging eyebrow, as if he didn't quite believe Harry, and the Wizarding Savior frowned back. "Sir, what's this about, really?"

The Potions Master continued scrutinizing him for a long minute, not answering. Finally, he looked away, down at his desk. "It is nothing, Mister Potter. I only ask that you be careful around that man, and trust your instincts."

"Sir, please," Harry said softly, stepping up to the desk. "I think I have a right to know if you have some reason to distrust Professor Rogers. I've been spending a _lot_ of time with him, more so than with you. I need to know if I'm in some sort of danger, otherwise how can I properly defend myself?"

Snape sighed, hesitating. "I don't have any evidence to support my bias against Caedus Rogers. As you said, it is just a feeling. However, as a spy against the Dark Lord, I have learned to trust myself, and there is definitely something odd about that man."

Harry sighed as well and leaned on the back of the student chair. "Alright, I trust you. My instincts have led me astray in the past, but if you say there's something wrong, then I believe you. I'll limit my time with him. I should be spending more time on my studies, anyway; NEWTs are only a few months away and, if I want to teach, I need good scores in more than just Defense."

"Thank you, Mister Potter," Snape said sincerely. He started shuffling through the papers on his desk, looking for something in particular. "So, you _have_ decided to teach, then?"

'Oops.' Harry thought, cringing. "Um, yeah, I guess I have." He muttered, chewing his lower lip. "Working as your assistant, I've become enthralled by the job you do. I understand so much about what teaching really means, and I love working with the students so much, even if on a temporary basis. I still have doubts, obviously, but I can't imagine there's a person in the world who didn't have doubts about their compatibility with a given career choice."

The Potions Master smirked as he pulled out a piece of parchment. "You are correct, almost everyone wonders whether they will be successful. But, since you've decided on teaching," He moved around his desk and held the parchment out, his smirk growing to that sexy half-smile. "You're going to need this."

Harry took the parchment curiously, and his eyes widened as he saw what it held. It was a list of the prerequisites necessary for the Defense position at Hogwarts. There were three things already crossed out with Dumbledore's name signed next to them.

"Teaching experience, field work, and…recommendation?" Harry looked up uncertainly. "Experience and field work I get, but…who recommended me to a position I'm not even qualified for yet?"

"I did," Snape answered, still smiling. "I know you plan to get your Defense Mastery first, and I trust that you will. Consider it a show of good faith."

"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed. Without thinking, he threw himself at the older wizard, wrapping his arms around the stiff middle in a hug. He pulled away immediately. "Um, sorry. I know, you don't like to be touched, I just-This is amazing. On top of the invitation to continue as an Assistant next year, I think you've just made this the best day of my life so far."

Snape cleared his throat, smoothing out his robes. "It's all right, Mister Potter, it happens." He picked invisible lint off his sleeve. "As it is, I think with your recent decision, we can begin to increase your duties. There is not much more you can do in my classroom, but I would like to give you an idea of the progressivity of the Years." He looked up, his face stern. "Starting this evening, you will begin attending me on my rounds every Friday and Saturday night, rather than intermittently, and on those evenings you will help me to grade _all_ of my student papers, including your Year mates. You will have to come here earlier. On Fridays, I expect you here immediately following dinner. On Saturdays, you will come as soon as your secondary lesson with Rogers ends. That should give us the better part of the afternoon and evening to work."

"O-okay," Harry said quickly, looking away in consternation. Already he was thinking about how he was possibly going to switch up his schedule to still leave time for studying. Hermione would know…and, maybe, she would know how he was going to continue hiding his attraction when he was spending so much time with the object of his affections. She'd hid her feelings from Ron for two years, she had to have some secret.

Impossibly long, impossibly warm fingers touched his chin and Harry looked up into that soft black gaze. "Do not fret, Mister Potter. I have already spoken to your other professors, and they will be assigning you less homework in the coming weeks."

This gave Harry pause. "But, how did you know to do that?" He looked at the parchment still in his hand. "How did you even know to have this? I didn't- I never told you I was even _close_ to deciding on teaching. I hadn't told anyone!"

Snape stepped away from him, and looked away as he moved around to stand behind his desk, creating distance between them. "No, you didn't. But…you've thrown yourself into your work as my assistant more and more. It wasn't hard to draw conclusions, despite the fact that you've been distancing yourself from me lately."

"You noticed that?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. He smacked a hand into his forehead when all he received in reply was a smirk. "Sir, I'm sorry, I just-"

"You need not explain yourself, Mister Potter," The Potions Master interrupted. "You've done your work admirably, and I can ask no more from you than that. I'm not going to force you to sit around and chat with me if you don't want to."

Harry felt he wanted to explain his behavior, to say _something_ , but found he didn't have a lie that would suffice. He just nodded as Snape began passing half of his pile of papers over to Harry's side of the desk.

"Take these over there," The Potions Master said, nodding to their usual armchairs in the corner. "We'll start with the Fourth Years." He handed over another paper that still had fresh ink. "This is the set of guidelines you will grade by. If you're unsure about a particular aspect, either in my guidelines or a paper, just ask."

"So, same as with the First and Second Years, then?" Harry asked, picking up the pile of parchment.

Snape nodded and together they moved to the burgundy armchairs to begin their work.


	12. Chapter 12

Valentine's Day arrived a few weeks later with a mountain of new snow and a mind-numbing pile of gifts at the end of Harry's bed. Most were proposals of marriage, or something naughtier, like he'd received at Christmas, though this time they came with trinkets and boxes of chocolate. Those were immediately discarded, the chocolates left in the common room with a note for anyone to take them. The rest were declarations of love from fellow students, or young girls not yet old enough for Hogwarts. Many of them were from 'secret admirers'; it made Harry cringe at the cowardice of his devotees.

Throughout the day, in classes and at meals, he received a dozen or so more valentines, including one or two singing howlers, all before the midday meal had even ended. When the last howler had burned itself up with Harry looking on in disgust, the Boy Who Lived shoved away his lunch and put his head on the table.

"God, I hate today," He murmured into his folded arms.

A soft hand rubbed his back soothingly. "I know, Harry, but at least it's Friday. Tomorrow we can spend all morning burning the leftover letters." Hermione answered.

He turned his head and grinned at his friend. "That could be fun. I've always wondered what color a fire will turn if you throw cardboard and tin foil in at the same time."

Hermione laughed. "Turns blue…like, _Ravenclaw_ blue. But see, you've got something to look forward to." She leaned forward to whisper almost inaudibly. "And besides, if I'm not wrong, you get to see a certain someone tonight. A late night stroll through the torch- and moonlit corridors with the one you love. Tell me you aren't looking forward to that."

Harry sat up, still grinning. "Yeah, yeah I really, really am. No better way to spend Valentine's, right?"

"Not that you'd know, you sorted knob," Hermione said endearingly, running a hand through his hair. "First real Valentine's for you, isn't it? And, no, that farce with Cho doesn't count."

The brunette boy chuckled. "Under those strict rules, I suppose it is. Not very romantic, since he doesn't _know_ , but at least it'll be spent at his side." He leaned an elbow on the table and put his head in his hand, staring at his closest friend. "Enough about me and my pitiful love life. What about you and Ron? Any plans for your first official Valentine's as a couple? Where is that ponce anyway? He should be here plying you with gifts and poetry."

Hermione blushed and stared down at her plate. "He got a detention with Rogers for casting a stinging hex at Malfoy. As for tonight…well, Ron's invited me to meet him in the Room of Requirement for dinner, rather than coming to the Feast. I think he requisitioned Dobby to help. I-I'm thinking about…" She looked up apprehensively. "I think tonight might be the night, Harry."

"Don't, 'Mione," Harry said sternly, sitting up again. "You said you were going to wait. What happened to that?"

"I know, Harry, but Ron's been pressuring me, and now he's going to romance me in the room-of-anything-goes. What else am I supposed to do?" She pleaded.

"You say 'no'." Harry told her in his sternest tone. "And if he keeps pushing, then you slug him. You're Hermione Granger, the smartest girl in our year, possibly the smartest ever to attend Hogwarts, and you don't have to do _anything_ that you don't want to, no matter what anyone says."

The witch looked back at her plate. "Thanks, Harry…you're right. I'm _not_ ready yet. I'm not even sure I'm in love with Ron, why should I give him that secret part of me? But," She looked into his eyes imploringly. "What if he leaves me because I won't? Ron's my first real boyfriend since Victor, and I don't exactly have a ton of other boys vying for my attention."

Harry ignored it as yet another owl landed beside his plate with what he was sure was another Valentine. He scooted towards his friend on the bench and started gently moving her hair over her shoulder and away from her face. She leaned into his touch sadly.

"First off, if Ron dumps you because you said 'no', then I'll kill him myself. I don't care how long we've been friends." He said seriously. "Secondly, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes upon, not to mention the smartest. Any guy would be lucky to have you."

" _You_ never went for me."

Harry pulled back, startled. "What? Hermione, I'm not- I love you, but, you're like my sister. And besides, I-"

"No, don't-" Hermione giggled. "I'm sorry, Harry, that's not what I meant. You're like my brother, really…it's just that you're different from other guys. You don't look at a beautiful girl and fall head-over-heels, you look past their face at what's underneath. It's enough to make a girl- make _me_ wonder why you never saw anything in me. I mean, we know _now_ , but…oh, you know what I mean."

The brunette grinned in understanding. "Okay, I see what you mean. You didn't really want me to, but you don't get why I didn't." He thought about it for a minute. "Well, if I'm totally honest, it's probably because, from the moment we became friends, or there about, I knew I loved you. You're my best friend, Hermione. Ron was my first friend, and he'll always have a place in my heart, but you mean more to me than…anyone. I did think about it, for a few months in our Second Year, when you were the only one who didn't think I was either Slytherin's heir or a nutter. But when you wound up petrified because _I_ was hearing voices in the walls, I realized that I loved you too much to ever go out with you. It would dissolve our friendship, for better or worse, and that's something I couldn't let happen. I value our closeness more than anything."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him into a fierce hug. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I love you, too." She jerked away with a start. "Ouch! Stupid bird."

Both Gryffindors turned to look at the owl that was now standing at the edge of the table. "Must have a stubborn owner," Harry muttered. He looked over at his friend's hand. There was a ragged red scratch, but no blood. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine," Hermione demurred softly. "I think you better field this one, Harry, the bird is getting agitated. Maybe it's important?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just another fanatic, probably." He reached over and removed the letter from the owl's leg. "I'm half-tempted to burn it without even opening it." He split open the seal on the parchment and unfolded the short letter. He frowned as he studied the tidy, looping scrawl. "It's from Rogers."

"Professor Rogers sent you a Valentine?" Hermione asked disbelievingly, leaning heavily on his shoulder to try and read the note.

Harry laughed. "No, he-no. He's asking me to come to his office tonight, before dinner, says he wants to discuss his offer further. Probably wants to know if I've made my decision."

"And have you?"

"I dunno," Harry admitted. "It's a really good offer, but…I don't know." He hadn't told her about his strange feeling, or Snape's veiled warning to stay away from the Defense Master. Even now, he saw no point in worrying her needlessly. "I guess I should come up with an answer by tonight, though."

Hermione smiled and ruffled his hair playfully. "Guess so, future-Professor Potter."


	13. Chapter 13

A few hours later, Harry was knocking on the door to the office across the corridor from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The corridor was completely deserted, with no House common rooms on this floor and most everyone either enjoying the romantic snowfall or getting ready for the Valentine's feast. Unlike Snape, Rogers made a point of answering his door.

"Harry, I'm glad you could come." The older wizard said, opening the door wider as his eyes landed on the Seventh Year in the corridor. He stepped aside. "Please, come in."

Harry stepped into the room, smiling. "Thank you, Professor."

"Caedus, Harry, please," Rogers corrected him gently, closing the door.

"Uh, right, sorry, forgot," The Gryffindor murmured uncomfortably. "I have to tell you, I've put a lot of thought into your offer, and-"

"That's not why I asked you here, Harry."

The seventeen-year-old turned to look at the man. "But, that's what you said in your note."

Rogers smirked, leaning back against the door. "I lied." He said simply. "The reason you're here is because the time for repayment has come. It's time to pay me back for all the time I've spent on you and your friends, Harry."

Harry frowned. "I-I don't understand, Sir."

The Defense Master took a step forward, and Harry had to force himself to stay where he was rather than back away. "I think you do. I've seen the way you look at me, and why shouldn't you? I'm a handsome man, and you're a sexually active young adult."

Harry did step back now, with each step the man took towards him. "I don't-I haven't…What are you talking about?"

"There's no sense in denying it, Harry," Rogers said, his voice low as he continued advancing towards the Gryffindor. "I've felt it, too. That's why I asked you to come today. The most romantic day of the year, what better time to satisfy our carnal urges?"

"Romantic… _carnal urges_?!" Harry repeated, his breath quickening. "Sir, I don't know what you think, but I don't have _any_ such feelings for you." He continued to back away, shifting to the side to try and get around the well-built Defense Master.

Rogers missed a step, then bared his teeth in a wretched sneer. "No matter, Harry. If you'll recall, you said that you would do _anything_ that I asked, in return for those extra lessons. I told you, the time has come for repayment, and _this_ is my fee."

Harry felt fear curl like a snake in his stomach, but he ignored it and stood firm. He straightened to his full height. "No."

Large hands grabbed his collar and slammed him back against the wall he hadn't even realized he'd been standing near. His head bounced painfully off the stone blocks.

"I didn't ask," Rogers whispered, his face less than an inch from Harry's.

The Wizarding Savior turned his head as the man leaned in further, pinning the seventeen year old against the wall bodily. Rogers shifted his legs to give his hand room as it slid between their bodies, and Harry saw an opening. He jammed his knee up into the man's groin, causing the man to back away, doubled over in pain. Harry struggled to orient himself, his head spinning from striking the unforgiving stone. He took a few steps forward as Rogers continued to groan with pain.

"You stupid son of a bitch," The Defense Master growled, straightening. "No one denies me."

Harry was caught off guard when the back of a hard, heavy hand slammed into the side of his face, sending him reeling into the wall, where his head hit the stone ten times harder than it had before. He immediately felt the warm trickle of blood over his temple. Rogers grabbed him by the throat and slammed him up against the wall. Harry clawed at the large hand, gasping for air. He felt his feet leave the floor as he was slid up the wall, and tried to harder to break free.

"Stop fighting!" The man roared. It startled Harry enough to make him freeze. "It's so much better when I don't have to use magic to bind you. Relax, you'll enjoy it. They always do."

The hand not on Harry's throat slid down his belly to cup his shrunken manhood through his robes and jeans. The fingers started to massage him gently, and Harry felt the snake in his belly begin to uncoil angrily. He could already feel his magic start to whip around him, out of control. Fear he could deal with, he'd spent most of his childhood cowering in fear, but he had learned rage when he'd come to the Wizarding World. It had saved his life more than once. He fed that rage now, and when Rogers' hand started to unbutton the lower half of his robes, he let it out the only way he knew how.

"No!" His magic lashed out suddenly, ripping Rogers off of him and throwing the larger man against the opposite wall.

Harry gasped desperately, falling to his knees as he coughed and sucked air into his starved lungs. His vision swam as he looked over at the prone body a few feet away. Rogers wasn't moving, and there was blood running over what Harry could see of his face. Harry, panicking, struggled to his feet and made for the door. He raced out, and down the corridor, wanting to get as far away as possible.

 **A/N: Bad luck for Harry. I didn't plan for this to be the thirteenth chapter, it happened wholly by accident…a nice and naughty little accident, though, don't you think?**


	14. Chapter 14

Harry was curled up in a window alcove on the fifth floor, his head buried in his knees, when he was found. He had surveyed his reflection in the light of the setting sun, using the window as his mirror. After an hour or so, it was easy to see the deep bruise Rogers' hand had left on his throat, and the bruising and swelling around his right eye. The man's hard knuckles had split his cheek open, but it had only bled a little. His temple was worse; he had a trail of blood down the left side of his face, his collar was fairly soaked (though he wasn't sure the back of his head hadn't bled some), and there was still fresh blood slowly oozing out of the wound.

Footsteps echoed down the dark, empty corridor behind him. Harry didn't even have to look around to see who it was. He knew the click of those heels and the swish of the billowing robe.

"It's a little early for your rounds, Professor."

"Potter, what are you doing here? I thought you were with Miss Granger." Snape answered, coming to a stop a few feet down the corridor.

"Why would you think that?"

"Neither of you were at dinner, I had assumed you were enjoying the holiday together," Snape explained. "Considering the day, and your age, I was willing to let your absence slide. Did you have a lovers tiff?"

Harry shook his head against his knees. "No, Hermione and I aren't…together. She wasn't at dinner because she and Ron had a date tonight. It's their first Valentine's as a couple, they wanted to make it special."

Snape took a couple steps forward, closer to Harry, and the Gryffindor turned away, shifting around to face the window. "Potter, what's the matter?" There was suspicion in his tone and Harry cringed, refusing to turn. The Potions Master took another step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't." Harry murmured, pulling away from the touch.

The hand returned. "Potter, look at me." The Gryffindor didn't move. "Look at me." Snape repeated sternly.

Harry sighed. He had to tell someone. Lowering his knees, he turned and raised his face to look at the Potions Master. "Dobby was wrong."

Snape gasped as he took in Harry's face. He sat on the window ledge beside the Gryffindor's legs and started to examine his face closely, paying close attention to the still bleeding wound on the left side of his head. "What are you talking about, Potter, what happened?" The man demanded.

"Your gift," Harry said, diverting his eyes from Snape's as the man drew his wand. "Dobby was with me at Christmas. I wasn't sure when I would ever use the potion you gave me, and Dobby said I'd know when it was time." He looked back into the worried black gaze. "I should have used it today, maybe then this wouldn't have happened."

" _What_ happened?" Snape demanded again. He started casting spells on Harry's temple to stem the blood flow.

"I should have listened to you," Harry sobbed. "Rogers asked me to come to his office before dinner, and when I showed up he-" He broke off, looking away.

The Potions Master pulled back. "He _what_?" The older wizard growled.

Harry swallowed another sob and took a deep breath to calm himself. When he was sure he wasn't going to start crying, he spoke in a laden monotone. "He said it was time to repay my debt to him, for all the time he's spent working with me. He-he wanted me to repay him…sexually. When I refused, he did this to me."

Snape stood violently. "Where is he?!"

Harry drew his knees back up to his chest. "I dunno. Last I saw, he was knocked out on his office floor. I sort of…blew up, or at least my magic did. He was thrown against the wall and I just…ran." He stared at his knees. "I just ran away like a coward."

"You're _not_ a coward, Harry," Snape told him firmly. It was the first time he had ever used Harry's first name, and it made the younger wizard look up at him in surprise. "You did what anyone else would do. The _only_ thing you should have done differently was tell someone what happened immediately."

Harry shook his head. "I…I didn't know what to say. I attacked a teacher."

"You defended yourself, no one will blame you for that," Snape insisted. He looked away, down the corridor. "Get yourself to the infirmary, Harry, and tell the Matron to expect another patient soon. Then tell her you need to speak with the Headmaster. I will join you there shortly."

"What are you gonna do?" Harry asked meekly.

Snape turned back to him with a dark, hard look in his eye that scared the Gryffindor. "It's called plausible deniability, Potter. Go. I will come to check on you once I have completed my business with Professor Rogers."

Without waiting for a response, the man started down the corridor at a fast, angry pace. Harry watched him go and felt a twinge of sympathy for Rogers. Snape was a former Death Eater, and, spy or not, there were certain expectations of Voldemort's followers; there were literally thousands of ways to hurt someone magically without leaving a mark, and Harry had no doubt that Snape knew them all. From the look in his eye, it wasn't a question of whether he would utilize that knowledge, it was a question of which methods he would use.

SSHP

It was an hour later when Snape showed up in the Hospital Wing with Rogers. The Defense Master was gagged, his wrists bound. The only visible damage was a head wound that mirrored Harry's own, most likely from being thrown against the wall, but he was clearly cowering away from Snape, who had a sadistic sneer. The Potions Master pushed the bastard into the Hospital Wing and forced him onto one of the beds by the door, binding him to it with magical ropes.

"Poppy, this man needs medical attention," Snape called. "And…give him something for his _nerves_."

Pomfrey looked over from where she was still examining Harry's freshly healed head. She frowned, but summoned several potions, including one Harry recognized as a cure for the after-effects of the Cruciatus. Harry feigned innocence when the hospital matron glanced at him before she bustled down the room to where Rogers was struggling to free himself from his bindings.

When she got there, she removed his gag. He immediately started screaming.

"Get that Death Eater away from me! Get him away! That bastard tor-" He stopped mid-sentence when a stupefying spell from Pomfrey's wand hit him, knocking him out.

The matron moved up to the man's bedside with her armful of potions and Snape moved away towards where Harry sat at the far end of the room. He came to a stop in front of the younger wizard sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Harry stared up at him.

"How do you feel?"

Harry chuffed a laugh. "Like an idiot."

"Potter…" Snape growled.

"Not what you meant," Harry said, nodding. He looked at his hands in his lap. "I've got a pretty bad concussion, apparently, but Madame Pomfrey says I'll live. She's keeping me overnight for observation. The bruises will take a few days to heal." He looked up with a hesitant smile. "I guess potions can't fix everything."

The Potions Master grimaced, reaching out to run his fingers along Harry's exposed throat, where the worst of the bruises lay. "No, unfortunately they cannot. Where is the Headmaster?"

Harry shivered at the warm touch of Snape's fingers gliding over his throat. He felt a tremor of desire course through his body, followed by a wave of disgust with himself. He pulled away from the touch, and Snape yanked his hand away as if he'd been burned.

"The Headmaster has gone to get some Aurors," Harry answered, looking away from the veiled hurt in Snape's eyes. "He'll probably be back in a few minutes." He looked up through his fringe. "How soon do you think until the whole school knows what happened?"

"We'll do everything we can to keep that from happening, Potter."

Harry scoffed. "I think the last seven years are proof enough that, no matter what you do, it'll be in the papers within the next few days." He raised his head proudly. "Don't worry, Professor, it doesn't bother me anymore…people talking. I've got my friends…and my work with you. I-I'll be okay." Snape looked at him doubtfully, and Harry forced a smile. "Promise."

"Potter, you don't-"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, walking up. "How are you feeling?"

The Gryffindor sighed. "No different than before you left, Professor Dumbledore." He answered, looking away from the Potions Master. "What'll happen to Rogers?"

Dumbledore looked back down the room to watch as two Aurors read the freshly revived Defense Master his rights. "Don't worry about that, Harry. He'll be locked away, that's what matters."

One of the Aurors broke off and moved their way. Harry realized it was Kingsley.

"We don't have to worry about whether or not he'll talk," The tall black wizard said softly, coming to a stop beside the Headmaster at the end of the bed. "He won't shut up. Keeps saying something about Severus, too."

Harry looked at the man in concern. "Professor Snape isn't in trouble, is he? He was just defending me."

Kingsley smirked, looking over his shoulder. "I can't see that it has anything to do with the investigation. As far as I'm concerned, Severus found that asshole unconscious on his office floor and brought him here for medical attention. Anything that happened in-between is heresay." He looked at Harry, who smiled. "Don't worry, Potter, we've got enough to use Veritaserum. You won't have to testify or anything."

Harry sighed with relief. "Thanks…that's really great." The Auror started to move away, but Harry stopped him when he remembered something. "Wait! I-I don't think I'm the first."

Kingsley frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"It's something he said…" Harry said softly, closing his eyes as images of what happened flashed across his mind. "He told me to relax, that I'd enjoy it. He-he said 'they always do'."

All three men standing over him looked sharply in the direction of the Defense Master. Both Kingsley and the Headmaster took off down the aisle between the beds, towards where Kingsley's partner was guiding a bound Rogers out of the Wing. Snape remained at Harry's side.

"Potter."

Harry looked at the Potions Master, putting his fake smile back on. "Yes, Sir?"

"Stop that."

Harry let his smile fall into an innocent frown. "Stop what, Professor?"

Snape sat on the bed beside him. "Stop pretending like you're all right." He commanded softly. "You don't have to act like this doesn't affect you. It does, and it is not a sign of strength to just bottle everything up."

"Right," Harry murmured, looking at his hands in his lap. "You're only supposed to bottle fame."

Sharp fingers on his chin gently urged him to look up and around at the Potions Master. He did, staring sadly into the sympathetic black gaze. The fingers slid across his cheek and into his hair.

"Potter, please, let me help you."

Harry only stared back defiantly, but that gaze remained steady and he could feel his resolve crumbling. Unwanted tears began to sting at Harry's eyes, but he blinked them away. He battled internally, his instinct to hide his weakness warring with the desire to collapse into the man's arms and weep like a child. Snape decided the battle for him by pulling him forward by the back of his head and holding him against his chest. Harry let his tears fall, clinging to the black robes as sobs silently forced their way out of his bruised throat. Snape just held him, his other arm wrapping comfortingly around Harry's back.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry had been right about people finding out. By the time he was out of the Hospital Wing the next morning the whole school was buzzing about Rogers being arrested and by lunch the full story had gotten out. It was in the _Daily Prophet_ the day after that. The only constants after that were Snape and Hermione. Everyone else walked on eggshells around him; not even Malfoy was willing to meet his eye when they passed in the corridor.

But he did as he'd promised Snape. He didn't let it get to him. He walked with his head held high, performed his duties as Potions Assistant, and studied well enough to feel as though he had more than passed his NEWTs when the time came. He was even confident of his Potions NEWT, which Snape had given him a review for the week previous.

On the evening before he and his friends were due to leave on the train for the last time, Harry decided to confront Snape with his feelings. It had been a hell of a year, and with Snape's offer to continue as his Potions Assistant next year while he got his Mastery, he decided he had to know. How was he going to work with the man for a year or more if he was always wondering?

"Hermione, what do you know about the dosage of Felix Felicis?" Harry asked as he and his friends were sitting in the common room.

The bushy-haired witch looked at him strangely. "Not much, Harry," She admitted after a moment's hesitation. "I know that the dosage doesn't affect the strength, only how long your extra luck lasts."

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly. "Okay…but, how much would I need to take to gain, say, an hour of luck?"

"As far as I've discovered," Hermione began slowly. "You'd probably need only about two or three drops. Unlike other potions, though, it varies. It metabolizes differently for different people." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And, if one were to experience a large shock to the system, such as an injury or…oh, I don't know, maybe a _rejection_ , it would diffuse the potion's effects."

The Wizarding Savior blushed, looking away. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?" He stood up from his armchair by the fire. "I'll be back in a bit." He started to move towards his dorm, and Hermione stopped him.

"Harry." He turned to look at her apprehensively, sure she was going to try and talk him out of it. "Be careful, okay?"

Harry grinned, relieved. "You bet, 'Mione." He raced upstairs, retrieved the little golden phial from his trunk, and unstoppered it. It had been impossible to tell through the shimmering golden mixture, but attached to the lid was a dropper. Harry couldn't help a smirk. "He saw _me_ coming."

The Gryffindor didn't have to wait long for the potion to take effect. He could feel his confidence growing, and felt that he could not possibly fail in his endeavor. Any doubts that had weighed on him over the last several months were washed away as the potion moved through his system. He had the sudden idea to go, not to Snape's office, but to his classroom. Deciding that was the potion, he left Gryffindor with the express intent of following Felix's inspiration. It was stupid, it made no sense for Snape to be in his classroom and Harry wouldn't have checked there even if he'd found the man not in his office, but if Felix said so then it must be.

On the trip down to the dungeons, Harry ran into several people but spoke to none of them. Something (Felix) kept telling him that if he delayed by even a moment, he would miss his opportunity. He arrived at the door to the Potions classroom and had raised his fist to knock, only to have the door swing open before his knuckles could connect with the wood.

Snape stopped just short of bowling Harry over. "Potter, what're you-"

"Evening, Professor," Harry said with a grin. "I wondered if we could talk for a moment?"

That little half-smile the Gryffindor adored. "If we must. I was just about to retire to my rooms for the evening, but I suppose I can spare a few minutes for my Potions Assistant. Shall we go to my office?"

Harry nodded and followed as Snape led the way down the corridor to where his office lay just around the corner. Snape opened the door for him to enter first, and Harry walked in just as the torches on the walls flared magically to life. The Potions Master entered as well, closing the door, and walked over to lean against the front of his desk.

"Might I ask what this is concerning?"

The Gryffindor shrugged, smoothing the sleeves of his robes. "Next year, I suppose. You offered to allow me to continue as your assistant, and I decided I couldn't dedicate myself to the task without first doing one of two things." He looked up into that black gaze with a confident smirk.

"Which two things would those be, Mister Potter?"

"Oh, go on, call me 'Harry', Professor. I love it when you call me by my given name," Harry insisted playfully, dancing around the issue.

Snape smirked. "Fine, then, Harry. _Which_ two things did you want to address?"

"Only one, Professor," Harry corrected, still smirking. He started to step slowly towards the relaxed form. "The other will be left for another time."

"Potter, you'll find my patience will not last much longer if you continue this silly game," Snape said, almost playful as his eyes danced in the torchlight.

Harry couldn't help a small chuckle as he came to a stop in front of the man. "Alright, you win. I decided I had to do one of two things, as I said. I could either demand answers for all of the questions you've evaded since that fateful 'not-a-detention' detention, _or_ …" He paused and Snape uncrossed his arms in frustration, standing to his full height.

"Or what, Harry?" He demanded impatiently.

The Gryffindor moved with speed he didn't normally possess and pressed forward, forcing Snape to lean back against his desk. "Or I could make a pass at you. Guess which one I picked."

Snape's Adam's apple bobbed as the man swallowed thickly, bracing himself back against the desk. "Harry, I really don't think that this is the time, or the place-"

"That's not a 'no'," Harry interrupted cockily.

The Slytherin slithered out from between Harry and the desk. Harry followed. "I really must insist that you stop this foolishness, it is no longer funny, if it ever was."

"I'm not joking," Harry purred silkily, still following as Snape backed away. "It's not a prank, not a dare, not a bet or a love potion. I'm quite seriously coming onto you."

"Potter, I don't know what has gotten into you, but-oof," Snape stopped moving, backed against his office wall, and Harry pressed up against him bodily.

He ran a hand into that silky black hair and leaned up on his toes. "I'm still not hearing a 'no', Professor," He murmured, his lips less than an inch from the Potions Master's own. A sudden hand on his shoulder pushed him away.

"No."

Harry gasped as his confidence and happiness shattered with that one word. He could literally feel Felix vanishing, like the last ray of sun behind a bank of dark storm clouds covering his heart. All he could do was stare at Snape for a moment, his body draining of any and all good feeling it had gained on the walk down. He had been so sure…

"Right, sorry," Harry said, backing away further, out of the grasp of the hand on his shoulder. He feigned embarrassed nonchalance. "Just being an idiot. You know how it goes, last day as a student, have to do one last stupid thing to say goodbye."

Snape cleared his throat, smoothing the front of his robes as he moved away from the wall. "Quite," He said tartly. He paused, his gaze softening. "Though…you are coming back next year, as my assistant, so it isn't _really_ goodbye for you."

Harry looked away and nodded awkwardly. "Y-yeah, I-I think it is." He stammered. "I don't think I should come back next year. You've gotten along fine without an assistant all these years, you don't really need me."

"Potter, if it's this little transgression you're worried about, you don't have to-"

"It's not," Harry said firmly. "I mean, it is, but it isn't. I just, um…" He trailed off, and when he looked up he'd plastered on a grin. "Forget it, like I said, stupid. Saw an opportunity, decided to go for it. Call it Gryffindor foolishness." He started to back away towards the door. "I-I'm gonna go. 'Mione's probably wondering where I am, and Ron said something about butterbeers earlier."

"Potter-"

"Don't worry, Professor. No harm done, really, it was just an ego trip, a one-off to, uh, to see what might happen. Exploring my sexuality, if you like," Harry interrupted with false joviality. "I-I'll see you around, okay?" He turned and headed for the exit as quickly as he could without running.

"Harry, wait!"

The Gryffindor didn't stop, or turn, he simply opened the door and, as soon as he was in the corridor, bolted for the Seventh Floor. Part of him wanted to find Hermione and curl up with his head in her lap as he wailed his sorrows, but she and Ron had been nigh on inseparable since Valentine's Day. Instead, he made his way to the Room of Requirement, where he could lament in peace. He'd known from the start that Snape would never return his feelings, he didn't know why now he had suddenly decided that had changed. He couldn't even blame the potion for his stupidity, since he'd taken it only _after_ deciding to confront the man.

One thing was certain: he was _not_ returning to Hogwarts next year. He couldn't face the man who had unknowingly broken his heart.


	16. Chapter 16

Over the next two years, Harry did everything in his power to forget Snape. He found boyfriends, experimented with one or two, but always left before things got serious. It always felt like they were missing something. He knew what, because every night he dreamt of the man he couldn't have, but knowing didn't help stop it. Eventually, tired of failing to find the type of connection he desperately craved, he stopped dating altogether.

Hermione had convinced him to sell his artwork while he worked on his Mastery. That had been a booming success. Whilst he never thought they were any good, his pieces sold quickly and at high dollar. It helped, of course, that he was famous. Everyone wanted a piece of him in their home, a centerpiece around which to gossip and boast. By the time he had achieved his Mastery, his small inheritance had more than tripled in size, with more pouring in from artwork still up for sale. Even Lucius Malfoy, never to be outdone by his neighbors, had commissioned a _very_ intricate statue for his garden. Harry had had no trouble charging him upwards of a thousand galleons for the job.

When he returned to Hogwarts, it was with a full Mastery in Defense, and in the capacity of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. He arrived two weeks before the Hogwarts Express was due to bring the students, under the Headmaster's request to create an entirely new working syllabus for all the years. His dumb luck worked in his favor for the first week, as he managed to avoid coming into contact with Snape entirely until the man willfully sought him out.

Harry started when the door to his office opened without warning. Albus had been kind enough to give him a different office from the one Rogers had used two years ago, this one closer to his quarters on the fifth floor rather than his classroom on the third. He stared defiantly at his papers rather than at the Potions Master who had just come barging in without so much as a knock.

"No, please, ignore the _closed_ door and common courtesy," He remarked sarcastically.

"Don't toy with me, Potter," Snape growled back, stomping towards him. "Why the hell have you been avoiding me?"

Harry flicked his wand, closing the door behind the man. "I haven't," He lied smoothly, seating his wand back in his arm holster. "It might not have occurred to you, but I do actually have _work_ to be getting on with. I am not here simply for my leisure."

The Potions Master slammed his hands down onto Harry's desk. "You have," He accused angrily. "More than once I have missed you by mere moments in the Library or Lounge, and each time I have been told that you were informed of my coming beforehand."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from mentioning the dozen or more times that the man _didn't_ know about, or how he actively avoided trips to the dungeons even in regards to his classes. He had even gone so far as to-

"You're using a _House Elf_ as a go-between for a discussion that should only have taken a matter of hours and has now lasted _three days_!" The Potions Master snarled. "How can you ask me to help you run a voluntary extra lesson if you can't even _look_ at me?!"

Harry flinched at the agitation in Severus' tone. He couldn't tell him. He wouldn't let himself be the victim again, wouldn't open that old wound. The Gryffindor looked up at the man defiantly.

"Like I said, Snape, I've been busy. Dobby volunteered to act as my messenger, so that I could concentrate on my work. It's not a big deal. However, if it bothers you so much, then you should have come to me sooner. I could've worked out a time for us to discuss the matter properly," He said, the very essence of diplomacy.

Snape scowled. "Potter, this is not _just_ about-"

He was stopped by a knock on the door, and Harry looked around him as McGonagall opened the door enough to poke her head through. He ignored it as Severus looked away in frustration at being interrupted.

"Harry, I thought I should tell you, the creatures you ordered have arrived, and they're in the Entrance Hall," The Transfiguration professor said. "I would appreciate it if you could get them taken care of as soon as possible, some of them smell."

Harry smiled at her appreciatively. "Thank you, Professor, I'll go down and see to them immediately. I apologize, I told the handler to deliver them to Hagrid's Hut."

The elderly witch nodded. "It's alright, Harry, I've already sent for Hagrid to help you move them back out onto the grounds. If you like, I can come and help as well. I have a few moments to spare."

"That would be brilliant, Professor," Harry said.

"I told you to call me 'Minerva', young man. I'll meet you downstairs once you've finished your business with Severus." She smiled at the new Defense Master before closing the door.

Harry turned back to the irate Potions Master, who was still glaring at his desk. Before the man could speak, Harry stood up and began digging through the parchment littering his desktop. He found the list he was looking for and looked at Snape again with a carefully blank face.

"If you'll excuse me, Professor Snape, as you can see I have work I need to be getting on with. Thank you for bringing your concerns to me, I'll be sure to be more careful with your time and mine in the future." Harry said. He moved around his desk and headed towards the door.

Snape followed. "Harry, you cannot simply continue in this attitude," The man said, almost pleadingly.

The Gryffindor winced at the hurt buried in the tone. "I don't know what you mean." He led the way out of his office to the Grand Staircase, Snape still trailing behind. "I already told you, I've been busy."

"Potter, stop with this foolishness," Severus whispered harshly as their quick steps caught up with Minerva halfway to the Entrance Hall. "We both know this isn't _just_ about work."

Harry shrugged. "What else would it be about?" He asked innocently, keeping his voice low as he followed Minerva down the stairs. "I can't help it if we keep missing each other. I'm-"

"Busy," Snape spat as they exited the Grand Staircase and moved towards the marble stairs that led down to the Entrance Hall. "So you've said. But we both know that that isn't all of it. You never had a problem making time for me before that night."

Harry felt his breath hitch at the reminder of his own foolishness, but took it in stride and didn't respond.

"Harry, I don't understand why you're so angry with me," Snape muttered. "You said yourself, that night, that is was just an ego trip. So what changed? Why, in the two years since you've been gone, haven't you even spoken to me? I sent letters, and you _never_ replied. Why are you doing this Harry, tell me!"

The Gryffindor remained stolidly silent. He couldn't even lie. If he opened his mouth now, he would tell him the truth without ever meaning to.

"Why are you letting this drive such a wedge between us?!" Snape demanded, his voice rising. Harry noticed McGonagall was pointedly pretending not to hear them. "Why won't you just talk to me, Harry?!"

A hand gripped his elbow as Harry stepped off the last step into the Entrance Hall. He wrenched his arm free and rounded on the man.

"Because I loved you!" He shouted. He grimaced as he heard Minerva and Hagrid gasp behind him, and turned his eyes away from the shocked look on the Potions Master's stern features. Even the creatures in their cages stilled entirely. Everything…just…stopped. "I came to you with my heart on my sleeve that night, and you turned me away."

"I was your teacher, Harry…"

"No," The younger wizard said firmly, looking back up into that fathomless black gaze. "You were my _salvation_. When everything else went pear-shaped, you remained."

"Harry-"

"Don't, Snape," The Gryffindor interrupted. "Don't you dare show me pity. You wanted to know, so I told you. I was in love with you."

"You…love me?" Snape asked uncertainly.

Harry glowered bitterly and turned back to the Entrance Hall, away from the impossibly confused black eyes. Minerva and Hagrid were looking anywhere but at them, and even the Dark Creatures seemed to sense the intensity of the moment. He started to walk away.

"I did."


	17. Chapter 17

"What did you want me to say, Hermione?" Harry demanded of the head floating in his fireplace as he paced his living quarters. "Did you want me to tell him I'm still in love him?"

" _Yes_ ," The witch said insistently. "Because you _are_ , you know you are!"

"I'm not!" Harry snarled, rounding on his friend's visage. "I won't do this again, Hermione! I spent the majority of my Seventh Year in _agony_ over him finding out how I felt, because I was afraid of _exactly_ what happened. Don't you dare ask me to go through that again!"

"I won't, Harry," Hermione told him, her voice calm. "I'm sorry. But he has a point, you know he has. This isn't _his_ fault. It isn't _anyone's_ fault. Sometimes you have feelings for someone and things don't work out in your favor. You fell in love with him, and he didn't feel the same way. That doesn't _mean_ you should blame him. He can't help the way he feels any more than you can…could." She corrected when he shot her a glare. "My point, Harry, is that you being angry at him for not loving you back is just as stupid as if he was angry with you for loving him in the first place."

Harry sighed heavily through his nose and sat on the couch. "Have I told you how much I hate that you're my voice of reason?" He asked softly. "I think you've actually become the voice of my conscience inside my head."

"I love you, too, you prat."

The Defense Master rubbed at his eyes tiredly with one hand while he tapped out a senseless rhythm with the other. "So what do I do?"

"Be his friend," The girl prodded. "That's all he wants from you, that's all he's ever wanted from you. So give him that. And don't do it in the hopes of gaining his favor, do it because it will make you both happy."

"I can't, Hermione," Harry whispered, leaning his chin on his hand. "I can't be his friend knowing that I once dreamed of more."

Hermione sighed as well. "I can't tell you what to do, Harry. I've told you what you should do, and I've told you what you can do, but you have to decide what you _will_ do. You have to decide which is more important: your pride, or his happiness…Goodnight, Harry." Her head vanished from the fireplace, leaving him entirely alone with his thoughts.

 _SSHP_

Harry, in the end, chose pride. He couldn't bring himself to befriend a man he'd once loved, a man who had torn that love apart. But he also chose not to let that pride stand in the way of his duty to the school. The next morning he sent a message to Snape via Dobby, asking him to come to his office at his earliest convenience. When Snape came, Harry made his position clear.

Harry looked up at the knock on his office door. He sighed.

"Come in, Severus."

The door opened, and the Potions Master came into the room, closing the door. Harry hid a twinge of guilt at the shimmer of hope in otherwise stoic black eyes. He drew a deep breath to steady his courage.

"I can't be your friend," He began impassively. Snape frowned. "I've been advised to do so by a very close friend, but I simply can't. There's too much in me that still hurts after your rejection, and I can't let myself fall back into the habit of our closeness; a closeness I now feel was falsely won."

"Harry, I never-"

"I don't mean on your part, Severus," Harry interrupted, standing from his desk. "I mean from me. I let myself get close to you under false pretenses. At the time, I thought it was because you were offering your friendship, but I know now that it was because I sought only to explore the attraction I held for you. I'm sorry for that. I became your friend for the sole purpose of wanting to be more, and it wasn't fair to you. Now, though, I won't be such a fool to my own feelings. I loved you, once, and that left me bereft. I refuse to befriend you now, not knowing if it isn't under the same secret desire to achieve more. As I said, I can't be your friend. However, I will be your colleague. It was wrong of me to damage our working relationship with my own selfishness, and from now on I will treat you with the respect you deserve as a fellow instructor. I hope you can accept my apology for how I've mishandled your valuable time up until now."

Snape continued to frown as Harry held out his hand over the desk. Harry waited, refusing to fold until the man vocalized some refusal of his apology. He knew, from their time together in his Seventh Year, that the Potions Master made a habit of considering his options before ever agreeing to anything. It was an admirably Slytherin means of approaching uncertain situations, especially in comparison to the Gryffindor rule of storming head-long into things with nary a thought to prudence.

Finally, after a long, tense moment of silence, Snape's frown turned to a scowl of determination, and he glided around Harry's desk. The Defense Master turned to face him, his hand still outstretched. Snape stared at the hand for another moment before looking up to glare into Harry's earnest green gaze.

"No, Harry."

Harry let his hand fall. "Very well, Sev-" His words were cut off by a choked gasp of surprise as strong hands snagged at him with liquid speed.

Long fingers gripped the front of his robes, and his knee knocked against a drawer of his desk when he was dragged towards the irate Potions Master. His eyes widened and then slid shut as thin, pale lips descended on him in a kiss he had dreamt of so many times. The kiss was short-lived, and Harry was somewhat grateful. His knee smarted terribly, and combined with his confusion, it made him feel a touch of annoyance. He drew back, dislodging the hands rumpling his robes with his own grip on thin wrists. He frowned angrily.

"Why?" He asked sternly, raising an eyebrow to match the one his smirking companion had lifted.

"Because you didn't say 'no'." Snape answered with a shrug.

Harry's frown deepened into a scowl. His annoyance grew exponentially, and he felt he could reasonably call it fury as he threw Snape's hands down and away from him.

"Get out. I will not be made fun of, _Snape_ , and I will not let my heart be your plaything. If you don't want to work amiably together, then that's fine, but don't think I will let you treat me so brashly," Harry growled. He picked his wand up from his desk without looking away from the frowning black gaze and spelled his door open so violently that it bounced off of the wall.

"Harry, I'm in l-"

"Don't you dare, Snape. Don't you utter those words, turning this into some gross fallacy just because you can't accept my decision. I would rather suffer a thousand broken hearts than hear you proclaim lies," The Gryffindor took a step back. "You've given me your answer, and now you need to leave. I'll send Dobby with my final draft of our joint lesson."

"I said 'no', Harry, and I'm not leaving," Snape snarled, scowling now as well.

Harry glared silently, refusing to back down.

Someone at the door cleared their throat. "Harry, I wondered if I might borrow-"

"Not now, Headmaster." Harry ground out without turning.

"It will only take a moment of your time, m'boy. I need Severus for-"

"Not now!" Both Masters shouted, neither one looking away from the blazing eyes of the other. Harry lifted his wand at the same time as Snape, and the door slammed shut on the concerned blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

"Why?" Harry demanded again in the still silence.

Snape's scowl deepened. "I have already given my answer."

"And you're a laugh riot for having said so," Harry growled. "But it isn't an explanation. If you won't leave, then you owe me that much."

"Will you let me explain, then?"

"As long as you do not say those words."

"They are the truth, Harry!"

"They're not!" Harry shouted. "If you felt so strongly for me, you would never have turned me away the night of the Leaving Feast."

"I had to!" Snape shouted back. "You were still my student, Potter! I risked my job if I so much as touched you that night!"

"That's bullshit, I'd already finished my NEWT's! I'm tired of you standing behind your excuses!"

"Read a book, Potter! By school statute, you're still the responsibility of Hogwarts, still _my_ responsibility, until you step off the train at Kings Cross! You already had one professor try and take advantage of you; I wasn't going to be the second, no matter how I felt!"

Harry's brow furrowed and he pursed his lips. "Not even after I threw myself at you?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Snape sighed, his scowl softening. He reached towards Harry, but stopped just short of touching him. "You will find, Mister Potter, that I have excellent self-control."

Harry found that, of everything Snape had said thus far, that _that_ was the most believable.

"You could have said," He pointed out, thinking he'd finally caught Snape in his lie. "If you really felt so strongly, you could have just explained your position. Why then, did you instead let me feel as if _I_ had done something wrong? As if _I_ was foolish to have hoped?"

"What did you want me to say, Potter?" Snape demanded, crossing his own arms over his chest. " _You_ said it was just an ego-trip! Had I told you of my feelings then, then _I_ would have looked the fool. I had planned to court you _properly_ when you returned as my assistant, a post _you_ refused! I tried to explain in my letters, and they went unanswered! What more could you have expected of me? I understandably assumed that my feelings ran deeper than yours, but _I_ was at least willing to put them aside for the sake of our friendship. It was _you_ who made it clear that you wanted nothing more to do with me!"

"I never read your letters!" Harry said hotly. "Why would I have, when thoughts of you only reminded me of my broken heart?!"

" _That_ is not my problem!" Snape snarled. "You should have had more faith in me! Even if you had assumed my rejection stood, you should have had more faith in _our_ friendship, which _you_ abandoned, and allowed me to explain!"

Harry continued to glare for a long moment before slumping in defeat. "You're right."

"Pardon?"

"Don't be an ass," Harry muttered darkly. "I said that you're right. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I let my emotions overrule my good judgment and…I'm sorry."

Snape eyed him critically. "I believe you. But do you believe me when I say that I'm in love with you?"

Harry frowned uncertainly. "Still?"

Snape smiled and unfolded his arms. Harry let himself be drawn into the encompassing strength of those extremities. He fisted is hands in the thick fabric of Snape's robes as thin lips descended on him again.

"Always."

Harry smiled a little ashamedly. "Good, because I doubt this will be the last time my idiocy will come between us."

Snape smirked. "While trying, your Gryffindor-ish tendency to let your heart rule your head is one of the many reasons I am so enamored with you. And, I'm sure, my own failings will cause their own problems."

Harry blushed. "But we'll face whatever arises together, right?"

"I would have it no other way, Harry."

The Defense Master chuckled as they shared another chaste kiss. "Good," He repeated when Snape had pulled away. "Then could you walk me down to the Infirmary for a pain potion? I think you bruised my knee when your Slytherin stubborn streak pulled me into the drawer of my desk."

Snape smirked and Harry gave a squawk of surprise when he was swept up into the man's arms. He wrapped his arms around a pale neck, staring nervously at the floor below him. Snape chuckled warmly, and Harry glared at him.

"It would be my pleasure, Professor Potter."


End file.
